The Beastmaster
by Maulbane
Summary: Maulbane seeks to better himself after the "Flowers" expedition, and it becomes an adventure.
1. The Beastmaster 1

It all begins on a horrible day in Mulgore. At least, it does for Maulbane. The rain had been persistant - beyond persistant - for weeks now without end and the elders were becoming increasingly worried about the state of some of the flood plains in the region. As their name subtly hints, they were indeed flooded now. There was nothing they could do directly about it of course, they weren't Goblins or Dwarves and even if they had the technology to end the rain, or the effects of it they wouldn't. It was the earthmother's wish that parts of the land should be two feet underwater and while some of the new Tauren in the Bloodhoof Tribe were restless Maulbane was at peace. Fairly much. Rain fell with half-hearted force onto the crest of his hat, which was a humble thing made of leather and the feathers of many different animals he had encountered. Nothing out of the ordinary. He didn't wear the armor he did while he was collecting the flowers - an adventure he now looked upon with a dry distaste - due to the simple fact that it brought his already weary head back to less-than-cheery events. One of them having to experience the effects of Fel, Undeath and the Arcane during the same trip. He shook his head and resumed his vigil over the dangerously high lake.

Lake Stonebull had grown at least half a meter in height since he last saw it, in fact the place he sat down as a calf was probably a meter underwater now. His robes were wet through, his staff (merely to give him a more peaceful look - wearing spiked leather armor may strike children with awe and fear but it doesn't make him the most approachable Tauren) was beginning to rot around the middle. Goretusk was off drinking as much as he could, probably taking the water as a chance to bloat himself. Lucky Goretusk.

The Hunter turned his eyes behind him now - An Orc had just called out. Out of all the Orcs in Bloodhoof (Not many) it had to be Cutathr. Something to brighten up his day, he supposed. They were about to talk when, amazingly, /another/ Orc called from behind both of them. While the Kodo riding Cutathr wasn't impressed with the interruption Maulbane took it happily, taking a few steps towards the female Orc on top of the Worg, looking vaguely like a grunt of her race due to the pauldrons. He knew that couldn't be true, though. The words passed over him and his tired head like water, but she was asking if he knew where to find a Troll Shaman. He knew it was Ros, a fairly innocent Troll he had met in the past week, and his mind cleared slightly as he began to haggle another deal to acquire a different Troll instead. It was something to provide peace of mind for him, and while he didn't like paying others to do things he can easily do himself he let her walk away with forty-six gold coins. During all of this was a clumsy, young Tauren watching them behind a lantern. He dismissed it as just another curious Hunter and both Cutathr and the new Tauren walked towards the inn, half to give the bounty hunting Orc something to track the Troll with and to find somewhere to sit down. Both of these things were found yet neither relevant as slowly his thoughts drifted around without an anchor to order them. Sometimes he thought since a year ago all he's done is drift. Maybe he was right.

After all the visitors were gone (for now) he rose and walked back to the edge of the lake in the rain. After maybe half an hour of being attacked by large, spiteful droplets of rain he stood up and turned, towards Bloodhoof. He walked in to the village with only one person on his mind, an elder by the name of Zarlman Two-Moons. After the old Tauren turned around and the usual greetings proceeded. It was then the Hunter spoke his piece to the old, wise Tauren, speaking to him by his first name, trying to be informal in his next words. After all, Zarlman was only ten years older than him, at most.

"Zarlman, I need you to inform the council that I will be away from our lands soon."

They met eyes, Zarlman frowning slightly at Maulbane.

"You are planning to go on another of your trips, Shu'halo? If so..."

Maulbane shook his head, cutting him off somewhat accidently.

"I have to... Cleanse myself."

The elder once again frowned, eyes filled with hints of dissapointment at him.

"You do not need to do this, Maulbane. Reconsider it, you're more useful here than..."

Zarlman eyed him questioningly, as if asking where he was going without saying it.

"I will be going to Kodo Rock, elder. After that I will be impossible to find."

Maulbane sighed at that, leaning on his staff out of slight exasperation, but only because he couldn't find the right words.

"I have never been one to force people from their wishes, and you know that. If this is as important as you make it to be I will have to let you go. However, keep safe for your own sake, Shu'halo"

Maulbane let out a sigh yet again, half relieved and half... Longing, possibly.

"Thank you, Two-Moons. In the morning I will be gone."

The recipient of this news frowned more than previously, almost hurt.

"You would not wait even a few days to go?"

He shook his head, already turning to leave and giving a deep, respectful bow.

"I am sorry, Zarlman. This is an urgent matter for me."

As Maulbane began to leave, already a few steps into his exit, the elder called from behind him.

"Very well... Good luck."

Maulbane honestly didn't know how long this journey of his would take. He didn't know where he was going. A first, but there were many of those for him. For example he had his first "Getting stabbed in the back by a Death Knight" barely a month ago, and his "Recovering after getting stabbed in the back by a Death Kinight" subsequently. Going to Kodo Rock was just an anchor for things to come, something to direct his hooves while his thoughts trailed. However, it was still a good place to give homage too, and so he would go there. Far south he would travel, the road would be easy, if he should choose to take the road in the first place. He felt like air, for some reason. Without anything to hold him down, just floating until something should ingest him... He chuckled out oud at that metaphor, shaking his head as a few young Tauren stared at him, and the large, ornate rifle hanging off of his back. Half-way through strapping a barrel of various knick-knacks onto Gladestomp's broadside he turned to calmly observe the growing group of calves. Smiling slightly, he pulled something off of his belt for the sheepish group, who were starting to nervously move away already under the Hunter's fairly frightening gaze (At least for them.). He bent down and handed the thing taken off his belt to one of the smallest calves, A Warp Stalker's tooth. The small child, wearing baggy pieces of cloth and leather stared at the tooth for a few seconds and spoke quickly and anxiously in Taurahe, something along the lines of "Thanks" . The small Tauren took a few steps back and began to examine the small, out-of-this-world canine, as did the others looking over his shoulder. Maulbane turned around yet again, finishing throwing the thick leather strap over the Kodo and fastening it on the other side, making the Kodo look like it was being given a girdle. After about fifteen more of these straps were attached the Kodo and to pieces of equipment, as well as supplies of all sorts, the Kodo was starting to look like one of the Goblin Pack Kodos. As soon as the Kodo was covered in boxes, barrels, et cetera, Maulbane turned to leave it there. He planned to let the Kodo get used to the weight again, it had been a while now since the Flower expedition (Not as loving a name as one would think. If anything he says it with disdain.). As the Kodo shifted underneath the provisions, Maulbane had sleep to catch up on. Lots of it.

And so, to sleep he went.


	2. The Beastmaster 2

Morning. No matter where he experienced it, or what time of day (or night, considering the Tauren's sleeping patterns), he always woke up the same way. His eyes didn't flick open, neither did they take their time in peeling apart. They just opened, and without any groaning (Maybe a bit, actually), grogginess or complaint he would swing over so his feet were hanging off the bed. At that point he would just stand up, collect his things and go. Or rather, would if it wasn't his own accommodation. This was slightly more tricky as he had to take apart the yurt he just woke up in, after cleaning up whatever was in it of course. Axes, heavily weathered javelins, ornate rifles and supplies went onto the Kodo's back in intervals until it was empty. And when it was empty he pulled the meagre rug on the ground (A light thing made of fur - what fur it used to be is now unknown by simply looking at it, but Maulbane would be able to tell you it was obviously one of the spiders he had killed in Hillsbrad foothills - hence the green tinge which even now perseveres against the forces of time) and placed it under a few crates so as to do two things at once. One, to secure it with the downwards force of the crates themselves, and two to reduce the damage the Kodo would get from the friction of the crates across its hide. Even small things like rashes and bruises are better prevented than lazily ignored.

The tent came down quickly, and another small dwelling removed from Bloodhoof. Unlike the fixed Human towns, impractical in every practical way, the Tauren settlement moved around as people came and went, leaving a large scattering of permenant buildings and an even larger amount of temporary homes. It was like an ant hill in the sense that chambers were always being dug out and caved in, respectively. Even at this time of day (Very early without a doubt, something around six and a half hours if Maulbane could still follow the sun, which was only just poking up above the mountains that shielded them from most of the winds heading north and to a lesser extent, east) Tauren were bustling around, mainly young adults and somber, middle-aged specimens of his race, Braves and young ones undertaking the Trials of the Earthmother. He didn't know any of them, once again attesting to the dynamic nature of the town despite the no longer nomadic state. His Kodo was half-packed as he noted these things in usual observant fashion, looking like a giant snail with a (quite literally) house on its back. When he looked again at the protesting Kodo he smirked at how much the comparison seemed true. Gladestomp didn't seem happy with it, though, swaying left and right with plaintive sounds as it tried to get the weight in a good position, despite having a night to prepare. Goretusk was nowhere in sight yet, but he remembered the Boar curling up on the opposite side of the tent as he fell asleep yesterday. His calls were answered by the Boar coming around from one of the other tents, unarmored and looking fairly innocent.

Goretusk was thrown unceremoniously into his reinforced basket (Which was now being choked by a sack of rope and a create of weapon maintainance gear (A small whetstone being the primary thing inside)) and didn't emerge yet, getting the point that he was to stay inside until further notice. It suited the gargantuan pig fine, and he began to curiously watch the bustling town move like a living organism, with probably more intelligence in the little beady eyes than given merit by anyone else than Maulbane. Then again, not many people are going to prounounce a Boar as smart, considering the stigma around them. Maulbane noted a Tauren child running along the extremely muddy pathways of the outskirts of the town, holding some kind of fluffy toy in a hand. After she moved out of view, behind an inn of sorts, he began the final preparations. After these he would be ready to travel.

And so, with the final preparations... Prepared, he was by extension ready to depart. There was no fanfare, from him or the village, he just slinked out of the village in the morning, as quietly as you can with an excited Boar riding shotgun on an even louder Kodo. He did his best to stop the animals from sounding like a circus and was doing a decent job of it at the moment, the mud making uncomfortable squelching sounds despite Maulbane's best efforts to avoid just that. Some things were simply inevitable...

Soon they reached the road, nothing like the opulent ones in Stormwind, or even in rural Elwynn, it was simply a beaten track. A very beaten track, the hooves going over it slowly forming it into a road of its own, soil compacted so much that the rain had to work hard to penetrate it. It was just enough to fit the Kodo on it. Probably a no-brainer, considering what must traverse it every day. He shrugged, and soon Bloodhoof Village was ony visible in his mind's eye, not his actual ones. The place would be given a spot in his memory until he returned, how long that would take was not defined or even cared about by Maulbane. It would take as long as it took, nothing else took precedence over this trip. And as he moved out of civilisation and into the wilderness of Mulgore, the only signs of other sentient creatures being the road ahead of him and his companions, something else slinked out of Bloodhoof Village, following him with intent.

Maulbane passed the time by analysing everything he passed calmly. A flock of plainstriders walked parallel to the Kodo, far in the distance. He could pick out the males, females and children without any effort and it was fun to simply observe them, and what they were doing. He wondered where they were going, but since he barely knew himself where he was going he decided it was not important. They slowly moved out of his vision, curving off and going northeast. He spent the next few minutes idle before two Praire Wolves were spotted, slinking through the grass towards a lone Plainstrider. It didn't stand a chance, and Maulbane watched nature do its work. The strider put up an admirable fight, crimson feathers around its neck bursting out in a mixture of fear and desperation, like a frill, and leg muscles tensing. It jumped back and attempted to run, but the leaner and more agile of the two males managed to swipe at its leg with a paw, sending it slamming back to earth and exacerbating the fact that the Plainstrider had no chance outside of miracles to survive. Despite this it still didn't resign to its fate, kicking as a larger, more powerful Wolf jumped on it and placed its jaw on its neck. However, barely any things are fair in the animal world, and as the tendons in its neck were ripped out the life of the Strider was also severed. The Wolves ate, keeping wary eyes upon the Tauren as they did so. Despite the brutality of what just happened, it was right. The cycle of life had been continued, untainted by the arcane, undeath or fel. Perfection in its own little way, he mused to himself as the Kodo continued down the path at midday.

Every so often a few animals would come out to watch Gladestomp and Maulbane, but since the Wolves' hunt there was nothing truely of note for anybody but Maulbane, who was absorbed in even the most trivial things like a leaf crunching, or a pebble being knocked out of the way by his Kodo's feet. Things like this were things that the Dwarves and Goblins would never understand, and it marred his good mood somewhat, but not enough to destroy his absorbtion of the scenes before him.

Regardless, they had to keep moving. They were maybe a quarter of the way to Kodo Rock already and it was only slightly past midday. As always he was making perfect time, and slowed their pace slightly to allow more time for thinking. Every so often a more malign creature would cross their path, be it a Palemane Poaching group, usually three of them at once, or a Venture Corporation prospect team, about five. They gave him no trouble, his appearance probably contributed to their pacifism though. Nobody in their right mind would attack a Tauren with that many weapons at hand, or a look that said "I don't even want to bother with you.". And so they scurried about their respective business, as did Maulbane. And all was good.

They arrived at Red Cloud Mesa in the beginning of the afternoon, maybe one o'clock to be pedantic and specific. The guards there waved slightly, smiles on their faces, and Maulbane waved back. Very soon they would be at Camp Narache now, and it would be a very short walk to Kodo Rock. And so, as if he willed it into existance, the large camp faded out of the horizon, sprawled out like a military base. He was quick in setting his tent down and preparing it for sleeping, because he would go straight to sleep after his little pilmigrage. And with that, he was prepared to go to Kodo Rock.

He grabbed his spear and began to walk.


	3. The Beastmaster 3

Walking kept him from his thoughts, and whether this was good or bad was in the eye of the beholder. The beholder being Maulbane, and he was fine with anything at the moment. The rythymic pounding of his hooves, slight swing in his arms as he moved and the tap-tap of his spear as it hit the ground. He was holding it horizontally so when he took a step forward the back of the shaft bounced off the ground and then the 'pointy end' would bounce as well. All of these things he concentrated on, he dedicated his mind to every step, not because it was hard but because it was something to occupy his mind. The ground was ordinary - slight dips and rises every now and then, but the monotony of it was broken by the occasional tree. Didn't matter a bit, anyway, as Kodo Rock was only a quarter of an hour away on foot. What did matter was the thing that was still following him.

Kodo Rock was now before him. He didn't know why it had the name it did, maybe because it symbolised the animal with its size, but he was still unsure. Regardless, it was a very important place for Shamans and, slightly less so, Druids. Many earth spirits moved around unnoticed by the naked eye, or so the Shamans said. Maulbane saw nothing except the rock and the small circle of sand surrounding it, which probably meant he wasn't going to be a Shaman. It was as he put his spear down beside him and knelt, both knees on the sand and his head looking up at the stone...

That the creature struck.

He felt a jab at his shoulder and expected the worst. Quilboars did come out every so often... And so he did the only reasonable thing to do, he slid forward, ripped a knife out of a slot on his bandolier on his chest and pushed himself up, pointing it firmly and unwaveringly at the... Tauren. It was Mahhal, the Tauren he had met at Bloodhoof. The one who tried to hide behind a roadside lantern. He was in the middle of barking out "What are you doing here?" when he noticed who it was. He stops at what, simply staring and holding the knife, forgetting it was in the air at that point. The Tauren spoke, a huge amount of fear lacing his voice.

"Hi." Maulbane was beyond confused at this point, slightly agitated.

"...Mahhal..." The smaller Tauren was still shaking at the knife pointed at his neck, so he throws it at the ground. It squelches into a patch of mud from the recent rains, and he speaks again.

"Mahhal?"

"Yes." He appears to reconsider what he says at that point, blurting out "I-... Uh... That is to s-... I'm hopeless."

Maulbane, even more confused at this point, speaks slowly, as if he has a migraine...

"Why... Are..." He's cut off half way by Mahhal.

"I need help. Training, if you will." While better than "I want to steal all your money" it still wasn't the greatest reply. He spoke, slightly shocked.

"Training, Shu'halo?" A simple response followed.

"Yes..." He continues quickly with that "I figure, you're great, and I-... Me... Not so great. I was hoping I could find someone to teach me... You may be him"

Maulbane frowned a lot at that. He'd never trained anyone before, except maybe Lethium, and that wasn't purposeful. And he didn't exactly love the idea of bringing an untrained Tauren along for... He blinked a few times, then spoke.

"Doubting yourself will only limit you... Teach you?" At this point Mahhal is standing anxiously, looking down so his face is not seen. Maulbane lets out a deep breath and sighs, nodding...

"I... Suppose so..." Mahhal is very surprised at that "Really?"

"It depends on what you mean by training, young one. And there's a chance I won't be able to help, depending on what you ask me..."

"I just need to be better than what I am" He frowns "Gah." He sits down, and Maulbane looks down, slightly exasperated

"That is broad, Mahhal. I can't make you better at everything, if that's what you mean"

"I know. I just need to learn Beast Mastery..." Maulbane is caught off-guard by that, raising an eyebrow

"Beast... Mastery..." With that Mahhal speaks up yet again, speaking quickly.

"You know, having an animal companion? I've already tamed something..." He shouts "Filestrider!"

A little Plainstrider, probably only recently hatched or a month or two old, hesitantly walks away from a tree dotting the landscape. It doesn't look like the happiest of animals, and Mahhal explains as he bends down to pet the thing.

"He doesn't like me..." as if attesting to that, the Plainstrider bites him on the hand gains a questioning look, tilting his head and asking "How do you keep it with you?" He throws some bread at the ground and it darts off towards it, eating. Maulbane lets out a thoughtful sound, then "Ah. That's one way." With that Mahhal, with his green mask, walks up to the rock and runs his hand along it, and the small Strider nips at his feet hungrily. He sighs "His favorite spot" And Maulbane begins to seriously eye the small creature, and speaks.

"I see a few things in him, that I saw in Goretusk. He is defiant and... Hungry." Both of them chuckle quietly at that.

"The first of these these things can be trained away with determination and care. The second, depending on the animal, depends" He shrugs "On, well, its personality."

"So... What happens now?" Mahhal pulls his mask down, and his eyes are slightly red. Maybe bloodshot.

"There is only so much I can help you with. The main item of advice I can give you is that if you wish to walk the path of the Hunter... Patience." Mahhal bows his head down as he continues. "That's really what keeps us going." Mahhal frowns at him.

"Really? This little guy was really my last hope. I need him to keep... Sane..."

"Hm. You'll find that is the same with many Hunters, Mahhal."

"Well... Do you mind if I... Stick with you for a while?" Caught off guard again.

"I... Keep with me?" Maulbane begins to detailing him, head to toe and everything in between, he analyses his new apprentice.

"Very well." He breathes in quickly, wondering if he just made the right decision. He stops looking at Mahhal, having already decided and no longer having a need to stare at him. He nods to himself in particular

"But for now, Mahhal... I came here to pay homage to Kodo Rock."

"I apologise." The smaller of the two kneels before the statue, and Maulbane follows suit

"It is fine... If you need anything I have enough food to keep an army alive on my Kodo" Mahhal shrugs

"I have enough on mine"

"Very well. There are other things on it, rope, tinder, rocks. If you need something, Gladestomp responds to Taurahe."

"Thank you" His reply is a simple nod, and the two do not talk again, simply staring and basking in that which is Kodo Rock.


	4. The Beastmaster 4

Kodo Rock was behind them now. Maulbane was still getting to terms with the fact that he was no longer 'alone' on his trip, but he could cope. Since when could he not? He let Mahhal use a spare bedroll for the indefinite duration of the trip and prayed to the earthmother that this wasn't a bad idea. Goretusk was very happy with the change of scenery, bounding about Camp Narache while they prepared to once again head off. They had a long journey ahead of them to get to their ultimate destination, Feralas. He had decided where he was to go last night, just after returning from Kodo Rock. They would pass through The Barrens without stopping, spend a few days in the Thousand Needles and push on through the the lush green hotbed of life. He knew where he was going, not what he was going to do. It made things easier and more purposeful for him that way. The events of the trip would unravel as they pleased. Perfect.

Packing was easy, the tent and spare items taken out for the night, and morning, put back onto their Kodos. An unseen benefit of this was that with two Kodos they could move faster if they wanted, and the Kodos wouldn't have as much to carry on their backs. The road out of Red Cloud Mesa was just as easy to out as it was in, a different set of guards at the arch showing what was the Mesa, and what wasn't. They still waved, though.

The road was the same, maybe a bit more cracking than before but the same. They were making good time now, passing Bloodhoof Village by early midday. Nothing interesting happened, and it began to appear that all the exciting events had reserved themselves for yesterday and now, fatigued, refused to show themselves once more. All the more reason to hurry into The Barrens. Mahhal didn't say anything, and Maulbane was content to pretend he wasn't there for the time being. The sun was mild on their chests as they rode east towards The Barrens, and it wasn't long before the plants of Mulgore became sparse and dry, telltale signs of just how close they were to their next stop, Camp Taurajo, a decently large mix between a town and an outpost. Maulbane didn't remember anymore, but the place made him think of a by-gone tribe of desert Tauren who had decided to settle down. It could possibly have been built recently as well. Once again, he didn't remember. However, it was very close now. The grass was slowly turning into savannah in increments, the animals were gaining thickened hides and a more skittish demeanour, testament to the "Fight or flight" code of life in The Barrens, as opposed to the fairly mild one of Mulgore. Things were much more fast paced in The Barrens, food was much more important.

Considering there were three divisions of the land in The Barrens, the North, the South and the Oases. The North is obviously teeming with mammals and light flora, dubbed in Maulbane's mind the "Timid" lands. The Tauren and Orcs hunted there primarily, mostly unfettered by the Quilboards and marauding Kolkar tribe of Centaur, who were surprisingly even less of a threat than the Quilboar, who managed to stay united under one banner. And then there's the south. The sun beats upon the ground harder here, or so it would seem from the temperature, the trees in much worse shape than those up north. The animals make it almost inhospitable, instead of the weather, though. Silithids and Thunder Lizards aren't the best neighbours, and so far only the Dwarves had managed to fend them off in their fortresses crammed into the mountains themselves, desecrating the earthmother in the process. And everyone knew of the Oases, formed by the meddling of Druids (like many things) and becoming a hotbed of life - but not exactly the life that's wanted. Barely any can brave the Wailing Caverns since they were corrupted. And that's The Barrens, the place Maulbane was just dipping his hooves in now.

They were properly in this region now. A warm breeze was passing over the large savannah plains, uncomfortable for a Human, or a Gnome, but nothing Maulbane hadn't experienced worse of. Mahhal was coping fine as well, and if he wasn't he was bearing with it well. Their Kodos hadn't had a rest since they set out and Maulbane suspected they would succumb to fatigue sooner or later, and if they had to fight they would be in trouble without the help of their mounts. Well, maybe just Gladestomp, he didn't know just how well trained Mahhal's smaller Kodo was. And so they stopped at Camp Taurajo, which compared to Bloodhoof dwarfed in comparison. The lodgings here were much more permenant, insinuating that not as many people came or went, and if they did come they didn't go most of the time. Camp Taurajo was a contrast to the 'bustling' Tauren cities, really, stagnant and set in its ways, the entire town giving off a kind of... Resistant stubborness to change. At least, that's what Maulbane thought as they hopped off their Kodos and allowed them to drink for a while, and rest. It was hitting mid afternoon now, and Maulbane made the decision that they would pitch a tent on the outskirts of the town. As he had said many times to himself, time was not of the essence during this trip.

They set up the tent, and as they settled into it at late afternoon, bordering on sunset, Maulbane posed a statement to Mahhal, who was absent-mindedly interlocking his fingers.

"Mahhal, I want to see you hunt tomorrow". Mahhal looked up, he seemed apprehensive.

"Wh-what? Why?" Maulbane almost shrugged, then decided to keep his stare with Mahhal.

"Because I need to know what you can and can't do if I am to train you." Mahhal blinked a few times and nodded.

"Yeah, I guess so." He stayed quiet for a while before firing the question that he had been thinking.

"What will we hunt?" Maulbane considered the question seriously for a moment or two before responding with absolutely no humor in his voice...

"Thunder Lizards." Mahhal nodded. And then the answer sunk in.

Thunder Lizards?


	5. The Beastmaster 5

Another dream pushed into Maulbane's mind as he slept reltively peacefully. The blackness of his mind was pushed to the back as a scene formed in the space - a lush, green landscape, but not Stranglethorn. The ground was a thick, healthy green color, soft on Maulbane's hooves. That is, if he were on the ground. He was in one of the many tall, moss-covered trees in the region, breathing in the thick, misty, slightly green-tinged air. If one were to use binoculars on him they would see a Tauren in his mid sixties, ragged leather resentfully clutching to his legs and chest, fraying away at the arms, back and thighs, as well as everywhere else. Dark green oils smeared onto his face and spots where his armor had ripped away, making him look like some kind of leper Tauren at first glance. He was kneeling where two meter-wide tree limbs met, the resulting crevasse providing a good hiding spot for him. The reason he was here, though? Months had passed by prior to this moment, intricate designs and planning, and the greatest moment of his life was about to take place.

He pulled a two-handed axe off of his back, his grip on the tree slipping momentarily but he regained his balance, using the axe to keep him steady. In his other hand he had a ridiculous looking contraption, what looked like a metal sandal with the head of a javelin, or a grappling hook of some kind, on the bottom. Speaking of contraptions, one would have to be an extremely good spotter to notice the row of bullet cartridges rudimentarily nailed, strapped and pushed into the tree, all the way up and down in a line. They were painted a light tan so that they looked like abnormalities or simple bumps in the tree. All of the charges had tiny blocks of explosives jammed behind them, so that they were inside the tree at this point. and you would have to be a truely exemplary spotter to see the tiny copper wire running from the cartridges to a box on Maulbane's left hand side, wedged in a hole, with the lever on it.

All of this around him was the product of, as had been said, months. The tracking, the observing, the purchase of these items, the determination to do all of this... And it was about to come to fruition. He heard footsteps in the distance. Huge footsteps.

The footsteps of a Devilsaur.

He tensed up and snatched at the box in the tree, mainly to prove to himself it was still there and he hadn't done anything wrong. The mixture of wood and metal met his fingers and he immediately felt calmed. He hadn't forgotten anything. The footsteps growing louder, each resonant pounding sound ticking off the time until everything had to happen. Like a clock. Soon the Devilsaur emerged from the green hue. It was what he expected, as he had been trailing this particular 'saur for a very long time. It was covered with thick red scales that formed to look like hide and it had a huge blot of black around its muzzle, a sign of a time he had personally watched it fall into an oil pit only a week ago. The talons on its feet were as long as a Human, and the blood on them wasn't from an ingrown toenail. Soon it was within twenty meters of the tree, and everything after that happened in slow motion.

He watched the Devilsaur's head become parallel with the tree, and as quickly as he could slammed down the button on the lever. The Un'goro Crater burst into sound, the cartridges being propelled by the explosive charges in slow succession, each one a second after the other. The bullets slammed into the Devilsaur one after another, scales shattering and confusing the gigantic reptile, which was the point. It was when it turned, roaring at the general area for an explanation that Maulbane slipped the iron spike onto his foot and held the axe in both hands, leaping out of the tree. He fell short but his axe hit the Devilsasur's face like an ice pick, allowing him to climb it, with the Devilsaur shaking its head in rage, and precariously stand on the crown of its skull. He raised the spiked foot as high as he could, it being iron and all, and slammed it down into the scales. It wedged in between two of them, managing to penetrate the skin underneath and fasten him in this position. It snapped its head up and Maulbane had to grab onto one of the dinosaur's scales so that he wouldn't be flicked off without a hoof. He got up and began the hardest part of the job.

The first chop with the axe was easy, and it dug half-way into one of the Devilsaur's scales. The second hit the same spot, shattering it in half and giving a tiny spot of skin for him to work with. Three more hollow strikes with the axe left a huge gaping wound in the skin, and a splinter of bone appearing. The Devilsaur was now slamming its head against trees, and the ground, to get him off, but the boot-spike was doing its job, painfully keeping him in position as he chopped away the last bit of bone, revealing blood, flesh and parts of its Parietal lobe. It would be over soon, as Maulbane raised his axe up and slammed it into the ever widening hole in the Devilsaur's head, and part of the creature's brain was sliced in two. It roared in agony, beginning to pass out, as Maulbane took a single last chop at its head, his arms burning with pain now, but he concentrated on the Devilsaur, every swing manual and thought through. As it began to fall to earth he slipped his foot out of the boot and pushed himself off, hitting the ground unceremonious as the Devilsaur did, much more ceremoniously. It let out a feeble kick as it died, all kinds of fluid pouring out of its head.

At this point Maulbane woke up.


	6. The Beastmaster 6

The Devilsaur's roars swam around in his mind long after he woke up, but he had things to do and let them to their own devices. Camp Tauraje was to be behind them before midday, if they packed up quickly they would meet that deadline. The Barrens was calm this morning, a light fog limiting view and no wind whatsoever. Decent weather for travelling, but chances were the game would be asleep, if there was any in this region at this time of year. An hour up the road would show if his suspicious were correct or not.

The yurt went onto Gladestomp, as did the extra provisions, as always. Mahhal took a few of the supplies onto his Kodo but not too many, the smaller one was only made for riding, judging from the sleeker build. Probably traded rather than tamed since it was a calf, and so it was almost certainly bred for speed and endurance rather than strength. Yes, he decided he wouldn't overburden it, Gladestomp could handle much more than what he was carrying already. With a grunt, Maulbane grabbed onto his larger, more physically powerful Kodo, and Mahhal climbed onto his riding one. Goretusk, for a change, decided to walk alongside the group, hooves tip-tapping on the well defined road, by both the high traffic of Wolves and Kodoes, and more Centaur than people thought, but they usually darted along their own paths, far from the Horde hunting grounds and places they could be seen. Maulbane took a last couple of glances around the large camp before setting off, Mahhal behind them, fidgeting slightly, probably at the prospect of having to confront a Thunder Lizard, or more than one. He'd only heard of them in stories, after all.

Maulbane, on the other hand, knew exactly what they were facing up against, or what he hoped to. A Thunder Lizard was what many of the Orcs from The Crossroads, and the hunting camps that peppered the hunting grounds far from it, a "Zapper Kodo". Or so he'd heard. While he wasn't offended easily he wished they had been given a more respectful name by the Orcs, as they were deserving of it. A Thunder Lizard, no matter where it was, was a powerful and mysterious beast. Aptly named too, considering its ability to charge electricity and shoot it from its horn. The ones in the Barrens had purple scales, probably as a warning, and they lived in the Southern Barrens. They needed to go south anyway.

Their Kodoes were bored, having been riding for almost an hour already. It was midday now and they were well down the Gold Road. Two Kodos, Tauren and a Boar were not easy targets, and the Lions lazily peering at them through the long grass didn't even bother at all. And obviously the Plainstrider, Giraffe and Kodo populations had nothing to do with them. It was smooth and safe riding until they met a more aggressive creature. Either they bumped into a Silithid Hive, a group of Kolkar or a Thunder Lizard or two, or they were safe. However, Maulbane was hoping to bump into option three, for many things. Food, hide for his armor, and Mahhal's, and the possible use of the scales and horn of the creature as reagents. He had managed to modify his spear through the use of a Warp Stalker's horn, so how far-off could using a Thudner Lizard's? Even if it didn't work, he would make sure every single part of the creature was used. His yurt needed stronger supports, and he heard Thunder Lizard bones were powerful. He would have to test that, hopefully it would prove fruitful.

It wasn't long before the Northern, more nurturing side of The Barrens was a memory, the most prominent animals now Silithids and the occasional, but more frequent than any other mammals here, Lion. They were more rugged though, mostly part of hardened groups that came into this region to prey on the animals with less competition. However, barely any Lions today, just the occasional flitter of a Silithid, an angry looking Plainstrider meandering across the road, ordinary occurings. Luckily, though, the monotony was broken as a single Thunder Lizard, fairly lean and unimposing for one of its kind, appeared in their line of view. Maulbane knew what to do right off the bat, barking Taurahe at Goretusk and Gladestomp. Goretusk scrambled around in the basket, managing to get out, and then began sneaking around the dirt and long grass towards it. Mahhal looked confused "Are we... Hunting... That...?" Maulbane just spoke a quick "Yes" in Taurahe, as he unhooked a javelin from Gladestomp, who had begun to slow and stalk the Thunder Lizard.

Mahhal didn't really know what to do at all, and was relying on Maulbane, which was to be expected. Maulbane snapped at him in Taurahe "Get down, get onto his left flank, prepare to shoot at him when I shout the signal." Mahhal frowned "But... But what will it be? How will I know?" Maulbane sighed, and said "I don't think the word "Shoot" is that hard to get mixed up, Mahhal. Quickly, now." Mahhal ducked as low as he could and moved through the grass towards the Thunder Lizard's side, who had already noticed the large pack Kodo and began to growl, a low, resonating sound that shook jaggedly and roughly through its lower jaw and the air it passed through. If you were close enough, like Goretusk was at the moment, you would notice its scales puffing up and shaking, irritated. The sound was magnificent to Maulbane, it was like a line of Human soldiers drumming their swords on their shields, except this sound was more natural, and much more quiet. The sound stopped after a while as the Thunder Lizard finally understood it wouldn't be able to /scare/ off this other Kodo. Maulbane slipped off of Gladestomp as it took a step forward, growling angrily. Maulbane took a few steps to the side so he was only in the Lizard's peripheral vision and moved forwards, towards Mahhal, as Gladestomp held his ground valiantly.

Mahhal was hurriedly nocking an arrow when Maulbane stepped over silently, placing his hand on the bow and pushing it down very slightly, his eyes on the Lizard rather than the bow however. Sizing it up. He had only killed a handful of these in his whole life, and almost all of those were self defense. He had to quickly tally up the strengths and weaknesses of this thing in the space of about... Fifteen seconds. He managed to spot a few misshapen scales on the crown of the creature's head, and memories of the Devilsaur flooded back to his subconscious. He knelt on one knee, retrieved a javelin from his back, one of five, the aerodynamic wood gladly being complimented by the rays of the sun. Mahhal took the note, holding his bow up slowly, and Maulbane walked back to his own vantage point, satisfied with Mahhal's ability for now. He hold his javelin, ready to fire, and meanwhile Goretusk lay down in the long grass. The ambush was ready.

The perfect ambush began as the Thunder Lizard, having had enough with the Kodo's defiance, began to roar, charging up a fine cloud of energy around its central horn. Maulbane was enthralled in that alone, but only for a second, tightening his grip on the javelin. He allowed the mist to solidify for a second more, looking like a viscous, thick mass of electricity at this point, and threw the javelin, shouting the word "Fire" in Taurahe. A second later the Thunder Lizard discharged the bolt around its horn, but Maulbane (And Mahhal, who had fired the second he heard the shout) had impeccable timing. The javelin bounced off the scales around the top of its head, leaving a dent in one or two, and the arrow punched a hole through one, safely wedged in at this point. The Lizard was caught off-guard, firing into the sky rather than at Gladestomp. Maulbane shouted two more words in Taurahe and a grey-furred, armored mass leapt out of the grass, as well as his Kodo beginning the charge towards it. Mahhal clumsily nocked another arrow, Maulbane grabbed a javelin, and they both fired at the same time, slightly after Goretusk hit the Lizard's right side, slamming into it and sending a wayward charge of electricity into the Boar, making him recoil backwards with a jolt and rise steadily back to his hooves, stepping back and sneezing loudly in the metal cage that is his armor.

The arrow and Javelin hit almost the same spot, one hitting just below the Lizard's eye and the other penetrating the scales at the top of its head, digging slightly in. Gladestomp enters the fray, head aimed low and prepared to meet horns with it. They collided abruptly, the Lizard's single energized horn sliding off of Gladestomp's antler-like ones, creating a fissure in the skin of its head. But Gladestomp ducks his head down low and suddenly bucks up, snapping the Thunder Lizard's head up and making it take a few cautious steps back, but it doesn't get any respite, two more projecties hitting it along with Goretusk's second assault, shattered scales filling the air like sparkling sapphire. One of the shards fell to the bridge of Maulbane's nose and he felt the smallest of jolts, losing his grip for half a second on the javelin he was holding.

The Thunder Lizard suddenly noticed it was more than two creatures attacking him and began to move backwards, growling with the multiple jabs of pain from the arrows and javelins still hitting it in the side. It didn't get far, though, Gladestomp having run up alongside it and smashing its head, and most of its horns, against the opponent's side. The Thunder Lizard was wavering now, trying to turn. Goretusk would have none of that, tusks colliding for the fourth time with its side, blood and skin showing through. Maulbane decided it was time and unhooked a larger spear from his back, one for melee combat. He raised it up and brang it down on the now cornered Thunder Lizard's head, breaking away even more scale and revealing soft, pliable hide. Mahhal noticed this, and taking a large show of initiative grabbed a dagger from his belt, sprinted towards the Lizard as it roared near-defeaningly, panning its head as it did so, as if trying to tell off all of them at the same time. Mahhal grabbed onto a scale, then another, and climbed up as quickly as he could. With a bit of deliberation, and holding on for dear life, the dagger pushed into the Thunder Lizard's head and its brain, almost certainly killing it there and then.

Mahhal had killed a Thunder Lizard, and they were eating well tonight.


	7. The Beastmaster 7

The Thunder Lizard died quickly after that. Mahhal was given the horn of the beast by Maulbane for the initiative he displayed, and they talked avidly around their campfire, near the southern gold road, as night encroached. Maulbane was lying on his back calmly listening to the sound of his heartbeat when Mahhal broke the silence.

"So... Maul, why'd you become a Hunter?" Maulbane smirked a little, so many had asked this question.

"Why does the Paladin be what he is?" He paused a moment, then rose up. "I like to think it's fate."

"Fate?" Maulbane simply nodded.

"Fate. At least, that's what I believe, Mahhal."

The conversation ebbed and flowed naturally after that, ranging from the animals in The Barrens, which ones he had hunted, which ones he aspired to hunt. Where he'd been in this land. All kinds of linear small-talk, both parties content to simply chatter about light, weightless topics. Not once during that night did they bring up the distance yet to travel, or how they were going to move through Centaur infested lands in a day, or more. Probably for the best. When night truely began to bear down upon the duo, a fog moving over The Barrens and possibly enough crickets to fill two buckets began to chirp around them. the two packed up, fire put out and bedrolls clambered into. Midday tomorrow they would be in the Thousand Needles. They slept tumultuously, whether by the sounds around them or nightmares known only by them. Goretusk didn't sleep at night usually, taking a stalwart guard outside the tent, occasionally sniffling and sneezing in the bitingly cold air, which was leaving teeth-marks in his metal armor. Filestrider, the small Plainstrider of Mahhal's, slept on his owner's head for that night. Soon enough, at around six in the morning, Barrens time, they were all asleep, including Goretusk, who had his head nestled into a mixture of the soil and his hooves.

Waking up was just as tumultuous for Mahhal and Filestrider as it was sleeping, and Maulbane managed to wake up, prepare food, pack up the equipment he used to cook the food, prepare Gladestomp for travel and give Goretusk's armor a shine, as well as his weapons, before Mahhal woke up. You learn something new every day, and Mahhal found out that cold Thunder Lizard flank tasted almost as good as it is hot. . . Almost. However, the road beckoned them to it, so they were off quickly. Filestrider still hadn't awakened, so Maulbane resorted to grabbing the thing and handing it to Mahhal, who placed it on his lap. It flopped around unconscious for a few minutes, the vibrations of the Kodo's movement waking it quickly. Goretusk was walking alongside Gladestomp, keeping an eye out for anyone who would ambush them from the sparse vegetation on the sides of the road. Maulband and Goretusk never assumed they were perfectly safe, ever, and many unexpected things can come from a bush only a foot tall. Silithids prowled the Field of Giants, and beyond, even in the dark hours of the morning.

However nothing unexpected did come out of anything from the roadside, and Maulbane was appreciative. The Great Lift was a stone's throw away, possibly if an ogre was holding the stone. A minute or two of fast riding would have them there right away, but there was no hurry this morning, and so they opted to take it leisurely. And, a stone's throw later, they were there. Maulbane had seen it before, but that in no way took away the fact that it was amazing. A huge machine made by the Tauren to bring them up and down from The Barrens. Maulbane casually remembered the days without the lift, the way from the Needles to The Barrens much more tolling than it was these days, his ancestors having to scale one of the huge protruding rock formations, and either use a bridge or make another climb up the mountain face. It was only attempted by experienced and hardy Tauren, all others had to go through Feralas, Desolace and Stonetalon, a huge journey.

Mahhal just said the same things at intervals, as they went down the lift.

"Wow..."

"This is... Amazing..."

"Woah!"

"How did they build this?"

"WOW!"

"Can you feel that wind?"

"...Wow..."

Maulbane was just as amazed, trying to answer his questions, even if most were rhetorical. The lift took a full two minutes to get from top to bottom, ropes as thick as the master Hunter himself lowering it down slowly. It stopped slowly, taking its time, and finally swaying in the air just parallel to a platform, which they gingerly stepped onto, Kodoes and respective pets in tow behind them. The lift, amazingly, was large enough to accommodate them all.

When they stepped off, Mahhal took a deep breath and Maulbane rested on an ornate spear, one topped with the horn of an other-worldly being. Before them, though, something just as other-worldly was looming before them.

Or, rather, a thousand things.


	8. The Beastmaster 8

Nobody had really counted the exact number of the stone monoliths, but the name had always been so. The ground was mostly rock, and where it wasn't rock it was rock covered in a (usually thin) layer of soil. Only carnivores thrived in the Thousand Needles, and the region found its own odd harmony this way. The birds of prey swooped down upon small mammals and large insects that dared to scurry across the surface of the ground, and the Wyverns swooped from an even higher altitude upon the birds of prey. Cougars darted from rock to rock, across the rocky ground beneath them that was hot enough to cook them during the day, as it gratuitously absorbed the rays of sunshine. The Cougars would bear down upon the Hyenas that ate anything weak enough. The insects ate eachother, and the small mammals either attempted to devour the meagre, pathetic looking bushes or, as the insects did, eachother. It was, quite, quite literally, a beast-eat-beast world in the Thousand Needles. It was a step up in hardship from the Southern Barrens, life not only difficult to sustain but so threatened that extending your existance for another twenty-four hours was a true feat, worthy of ale and whores. Too bad animals didn't understand the concept of either (yet), and were content with soldiering on. In between this mix of feathered, furry and scaled competition were the Tauren and Centaur, fighting a war of attrition that should have ended decades ago.

The Centaur, as anyone could tell you, were tenacious. Even when the Tauren and the Orcs defeated them in unison they held to whatever land they could get afterwards, held on so hard their deformed fingers were bleeding, at least metaphorically. And still, as fingers snapped and bled as they were pried from their fortifications and raiding camps, their stubborness was admirable, in its own little way. The Galak Tribe had consolidated its hold on the region, with the settlement of Splithoof Crag. The settlement allowed them supplies, weapons and armor, as well as a steady population, which gave them complete control of the ground. Sadly, Maulbane also had to use the roads, which were on the ground.

As their Kodos moved ponderously along the well defined, smooth desert road, possibly five, six meters wide, said ground was probably hot enough to give a Human a nasty burn. Gladestomp's hooves had compacted sand, rock and dirt in places as far off as Tanaris and Silithus, and parts of The Barrens, though, and as such was able to put up with the heat without much complaint. Mahhal's Kodo was doing almost as well, grunting rhythmically with every. . . Hoofstep. Goretusk panted in his basket, his armor had been taken off, it was useless here. Wearing it in battle would have the Boar ending up falling over before a battle could even begin. The ornate, custom-forged plates of metal hung towards the back of the Kodo until they got to Feralas. It would only be half a day until they were there, if they didn't stop. He was almost certain they would though, as it was probably suicidal to try and blitz the whole region in that time, especially with a panting Mahhal behind them, not used to such unforgiving climates.

Speaking of unforgiving, something expected happened. Considering there were at over a thousand Centaur in the region he knew by the sheer odds they would bump into one or two, which is what happened. He heard the bowstring crack before he heard the arrow hit his Kodo's armor, sliding off the Kodo and pulling a spear off of the Kodo's side. A second arrow grazed his waist, which was only protected by matted fur and the edge of a belt. He did manage to get the spear into the Centaur's neck, leaving it struggling for a second before death, not on purpose however. The Centaur had fired from in between two of the Thousand Needles, a two meter wide ambush spot. Clever. He took whatever was useful on the Galak and decided to take the body with him. As Mahhal looked sickened, Maulbane shrugged. "All meat is good meat".

Whatever free time and thought wasn't consumed by the heat was occupied by the concentration required in keeping the Kodos in the middle of the road, and staying alert for any more possible ambushes. A single bowman was easily taken care of, but five laying in wait may just result in their end. Hence the need for vigilance. It was only three hours since they stepped off of the Great Lift that they reached a small camp, made up of three roomy-looking tents to the side of the road. A single brazier sat outside the three tents, with all of the openings pointed towards it as it sat there broodingly. Maybe it didn't like being a brazier, or maybe just being a brazier in such an inhospitable place. Regardless of the brazier's potential disposition, Maulbane and Mahhal slowed to a stop outside the camp. Closer up, they noticed who was actually there. It was a group of Tauren, nothing unique about them except the fact that they looked very experienced. Mahhal milled around the campsite, keeping inconspicuous, while Maulbane asked if they could use the camp. The apparent leader, a Tauren in metal plate (Despite the heat. . .), shrugged "More protection against the Centaur, friend.". He set up his tent, and Mahhal's (Who was busy searching for something to eat), behind the others ones, one suitably flat ground. Their dwellings were much smaller than the others', but it didn't matter anyway, did it?

Mahhal returned during the night with a Hyena's corpse trailing behind him, leaving a trail of dust. He skinned it and cut all of the meat up into rough chunks as Maulbane was sleeping, and settled into bed himself afterwards. Tomorrow they would be in Feralas.


	9. The Beastmaster 9

Wakey wakey!

Maulbane didn't groan as he got up, he never did. The sun was invisible at the moment, but slivers of light squirmed in through the gaps in the Needles, letting him know it was morning. The sky ahead was cloudly, wispy cirrus clouds, not enough to provoke rain. One hoof after the other he walked around the camp mindlessly, not killing time, just walking. He didn't feel like waking Mahhal up yet so he allowed himself to wander around. Only the Goblin was up at the moment, sitting broodingly over the fire. Maulbane decided to let him brood; too many conversations with Goblins ended up with either a hit placed on him, a half-an-hour session of bawling or a sales pitch. He didn't know who this Goblin had ties to anyway. Probably unsavory people. As he walked around the Goblin peered at him in the corner of his eye, that little greedy glint that's a characteristic for their kind. In time he grew bored with him though, looking back at the weak little fire being coaxed into life, on the almost inhospitable rock surface it was kindled on. A flicker here and there, nothing else noteworthy.

His leather began to itch slightly on his thighs, where the most friction was. It was something he always had to deal with. By this time Goretusk had woken up, letting out a suspicious grumble as he rose to his surroundings. The Boar moved out of the hut tentatively, not really trusting anything around him yet. When he saw Maulbane the irked glint in his eyes went elsewhere to make way for the mixture of relief and hunger. Goretusk was indeed hungry, having not eaten much last night, and so his stomach was empty. An initial nudge against Maulbane's foot proved to be useless, a second, more urgent one (which managed to pull on a knot of his fur and rip a few dozen hairs out) made Maulbane sigh, look down, and wander off to the scraps he had allocated just for this. He unceremoniously tipped a small jar filled with the compacted remains of dinner onto the ground, and so Goretusk had an instant meal. As dust was kicked up by the Boar's erratic head movements, bucking and twisting as he tried to eat despite his protruding tusks, Maulbane decided now was time to wake up Mahhal.

Filestrider was sleeping in the opposite side of the room as Mahhal, sleeping inaudibly. The only way you could tell the miniscule thing was alive was by the rising and falling of the chest. Mahhal, however, snored. Quite a lot. Maulbane walked over purposefully and placed a hand on the smaller Tauren's chest. He pushed once, adding to the action by letting out a deep "Get up, Mahhal." It worked, and his eyes fluttered open drowsily. A few mumbled sentences later Mahhal was up, in the same ragged leather he was wearing last night. Efficiency or sloth, he wondered silently to himself as his 'apprentice' stumbled outside, one sleeve missing from his armor, or what was left of it. Maulbane chuckled weakly at that. The other Tauren were rising as well now, the heavily armored Tauren leaving his tent first. He eyed Maulbane for a moment, and he thought there would be a staring contest for a few moments before he nodded in recognition, moving away and feeding the fire with what lumber there was, a few thick and brambly pieces of bush aided in catching fire by pieces of tough rock-clinging grass and vine. Meagre but did the job, he mused.

Mahhal was prowling around the camp, not knowing what to do. Filestrider was still snoozing in the tent and Goretusk was keeping a wary eye on the road, having found a good vantage point he was able to scramble up and perch himself on, elevated enough so the Boar could just see over the tops of the huts. Maulbane sat on his haunches for a moment before coming to a decision, and soon enough they were packing up. Two of the other Tauren, a lightly clothed, middle-aged one, and one with a brown, thick pelt, both regarded the group as they left with a bit of suspicion, but mostly interest. Probably wondering why they left so soon.

The road beckoned him in a way, but it was more the prospect of new things, and ultimately Feralas, that called to him more. They didn't properly give their farewells to the group, having not properly met them, really. The two Kodos slowly lumbered out of the campsite and to hopefully greener pastures. If there was such a thing as a pasture in Feralas at all. Regardless... Soon things didn't seem to bode so well. The smell of smoke was in the air. Light but the fact that it was there was inescapable. And there it was, off to the side of the road by one of the Needles after maybe half an hour of slow riding there was a whole goblin caravan, all of the carts wrecked and flaming. Between the fire and the snapping wood were Galak Centaur, barking at eachother and kicking away bits of rubble to find anything worth taking out of the wreckage. Maulbane rapidly counted how many there were, and it ended up as about a dozen Centaur, maybe more. Seven were busying themselves looting, the others were moving about. One was acting as a sentry, and so they had moments before being spotted. Moments Maulbane took advantage of. A nimble slide off of his Kodo and he was ready for battle, holding Owa'korwi (A few nights ago Maulbane had spent time naming the weapons he had put the most into. Owa'korwi sounded better than "Warp Spear" in his opinion.) in a defensive stance. Maybe the Galak wouldn't attack. Generally though, maybies were just wishful thinking. He prepared for an attack, arrows could come from anywhere. They sure as hell couldn't move along now.

It turned out the maybe was wrong. The sentry spotted them and shouted roughly into the air, politely allowing everyone to know of their arrival. Soon a group of four were looking at them, sniffing the air and holding their weapons tightly. An attack was imminent, and Maulbane's morals clashed with his common sense for a few seconds before he made his decision. A few seconds later a javelin was ripped off of a harness on Gladestomp's flank and aimed for a split second, enough to get it into the sentry's leg, a horrible throw from him. The sentry, however bad the throw was, was now incapacitated though, and his friends (he assumed they were) were charging at him, undaunted by the pre-emptive strike. One hung back, shooting at arrow at him. It managed to punch through his armor and he groaned with the pain, thrown off for a moment, Mahhal had slipped off his Kodo at the same time as Maulbane though, and an arrow hit one of the charging Centaurs in the chest, but it didn't stop moving. Goretusk darted off the road and towards one of the chargers, leaping into the air gracefully and slamming into the other charger's side, sending them both slamming into large rock, crushing the Galak's skull and bruising the Boar only slightly, the armor and fur cushioning him.

Another arrow flew through the air and missed completely, and the remaining charger collided with Maulbane, and the axe he was holding buried into his shoulderpad, superficial damage. They rolled into the dirt and he managed to kick him away, scrambling back and placing a hand on Owa'korwi. He pushed himself up with it, the pain from the arrow pulsing slowly, and aimed a quick (unnaturally quick, due to the properties of the spear) upwards slash at it. It wasn't a pretty sight, what happened next, but the Galak's head became two parts, sliced diagonally. The sheer crudeness of the cut would be enough to make a Troll lean back for a second... But just for a second. Mahhal fired another arrow and it hit the archer dead in the chest, causing it to double over and shout obscenities... At this point, things seemed to be going in their favor until the rest showed up, seven of them. There was no leader that he could see, which made things only slightly more desperate than they already were. . . However, they had two Kodos. Gladestomp was armored as always, Mahhal's was keeping away from the battle. Gladestomp, open the shouting in Taurahe of "Attack!" reared forward, one large hoof almost managing to amputate a Centaur who got too close. Two arrows hit Gladestomp's armor, and after that no more were fired. The Centaur slowed down then, looking around at their friends, two of which were decapitated. Maulbane eyed them all individually, and Mahhal stood next to him, holding a pair of two-handed axes nervously. Slowly, almost unnoticably, the Centaur moved backwards, and as soon as they were out of melee range charged off into the distance. They were going to get friends, no doubt.

In the meantime, though, there was an entire caravan wrecked in front of them. It was laying there, smoldering on a large flat area off the road. Maulbane quickly checked the carts for any possible survivors, all he found was a few charred corpses. A depressing find. He was peering through one of the carts when he heard something snap, and again. It sounded like someone slamming their knee into a branch to break it. He pulled his spear off of his back and prepared for the worst. What he did find, though...

Was a cage. A huge, cage. Inside was the largest Panther he had ever seen in his life, easily longer than he was tall, and it had just knocked the door of the cage off through sheer anger. It took a second for it to turn around, a quarter of a second for its muscles to tense up and half a second to pounce. Within that time he managed to begin a roll, but the Panther fall onto his legs as he performed it, causing him to spin into the dust, confused. It took another second for the Panther to leap forward, letting out a roar that he could barely hear, ears filled with a mixture of dust and bits of blood. An arrow flew meekly through the air, an effort by Mahhal to help. As the Panther landed on him it let out three swipes with claws that looked infected, each one ripping holes into his armor and tearing his hair, and the occasional piece of skin out. He only felt blinding pain as the Panther struck out at his face, accidently hooking a claw onto his nostril and ripping the skin apart, blood beginning to well up. At this point Goretusk saved the day, leaping and knocking the Panther off of him. He saw for the next half a minute as he tried to block the pain the two rolling around in the dirt, both snapping at eachother, the Panther slashing powerfully. Finally, Goretusk began to slash with his tusks at its face wildly, and suddenly, without notice, the Panther kicked Goretusk back with both hind legs at once. Mahhal sprinted over, firing an arrow from a five meter distance at the Panther who was still getting up, and it hit it in the neck. It slipped and hit the ground again, letting out a roar, filled with rage. It tried to get to its feet once more, but Goretusk had run over once more, managing to leap onto the weakened Panther, and by luck got a tusk into the Panther's neck and, with a huge amount of effort, ripped the content of its neck out for all to see. Like almost all the hunts and battles Maulbane had experienced, suddenly everything was quiet.

If you were to ask him what happened then, he'd tell you he passed out, and it would be the truth. As Maulbane dreamed about the earthmother-knows-what Mahhal began to set up the tent as quickly as he could to tend to all of their wounds.


	10. The Beastmaster 10

Mahhal was distraught. He thought Maulbane had died initially, and almost began to tear up before getting a hold of himself. Goretusk helped drag the comatose Tauren to Gladestomp, and when he was slumped over it they quickly moved off. Even he had enough common sense not to stay here, the Centaur would definitely be back with help. Gladestomp followed Mahhal grudgingly as he set off, occasionally stopping and refusing to move, probably thirsty or hungry, though. However, in about three times as much time it usually takes to travel, Mahhal reached the border of Feralas. Lush was an understatement when describing the land, and verdant green was the watchword. As Mahhal searched anxiously for where the road had gone, Maulbane groaned in his unconsciousness, dreaming.

And then he was in Stranglethorn Vale, standing rigidly and his life flashing before his eyes. A Panther was sitting in the tree above him, and he'd walked right into its trap. He tried to point his gun, a thick-barreled thing, at the Cat, but it laughed off the effort, sliding out of the tree and falling right onto him, knocking him to the ground. He was dreaming, but he felt the pain he felt so many years ago as his head collided with the ground. Claws were pointed right at his neck, and he wasn't one to surrender, so he bucked up, trying to dislodge the Panther from his chest, to no avail. But at this point Goretusk had charged over, squealing loudly. Maulbane managed to knee the Panther off of his body finally, knocking it back with his rifle and kicking at the same time, finally giving him some leeway to shoot. And shoot him did, right into the creature's leg. He ran a large risk shooting in the middle of a densely populated forest, scavangers were many and bodies few. Raptors and Tigers both could be drawn in. He fired again, running the same risk twice, and then... Everything went blurry. Goretusk looked like a huge armored potato and he felt like he had a migraine... It was a few minutes after that when he woke up from his 'sleep'...

And when he woke up he was still in Stranglethorn Vale. He jerked up, twitching erratically, looking for why he was slumped over a Kodo. It took a full minute for him to realise his surroundings, the Lower Wilds of Feralas. It was late at night, but it felt to him that they'd just started moving. Most obviously, though, he felt like crap. A dozen lines cut into his body and face felt like fire, and every time his heart beated the pain pulsed, like a machine. He had bandages hurriedly rolled all around his wounds, but they were still oozing small amounts of blood through the cloth. He could barely see because one of his eyes was covered by a piece of linen rolled diagonally across his head. He didn't remember clearly what happened yesterday, but he could recall most of it. It was all just fuzzy, and at times he got his memories mixed up with the ones from the Panther hunt in Stranglethorn. He was a mess.

As Mahhal sat relieved that Maulbane wasn't dead, or critically wounded, Maulbane passed the time by watching the things he passed as he sat limp in the saddle. The grass was thick, more like knots than blades, and tended to weave in with other tendrils, creating a thick, damp bed that supported life. The trees were themselves green, and covered in lichen, which he found to be very nice looking. The trunks of the trees deviated a very large amount from other trees from different regions, ranging from stick-thin, meager things to trees that challenged the size of the ones in Ashenvale, sustaining more life than a village on the surface of their bark. Ferns covered the ground, and the grass was obscure because of it, being loomed over by the sheer amount of weeds and ferns peppering the ground. There was so much life it was dazzling for him, even though he'd seen it before -and- had a migraine (which had since receded into a mere headache, but managed to interrupt most of his thoughts).

It wasn't long before Camp Mojache was before them, and Mahhal went to set up everything as, for once, Maulbane sat in the saddle, trying not to move. Moving would make his headache flare up. He noted as he dozed off, to catch some rest, that the town looked awfully pretty this time of year.


	11. The Beastmaster 11

Two days later. . .

Maulbane had recovered fully, the only signs that he'd been mauled by an excessively large Panther were the paling red marks on his face and chest, as well as the ever-so-slight limp. Why he had the limp even he didn't know, but he thought he damaged something when the Panther knocked him to the ground. Whatever the case, he was in Feralas and he had all the time in the world to do anything he could possibly wish to do. For the past two days Goretusk had kept unflinchingly next to him. At a glance one would assume that the Boar was just dependant, a longer look would reveal the bond the two shared. Since they reached Feralas Maulbane hadn't put Goretusk's armor back on, having no wish to hunt for a while. As well as having himself checked up by one of the Shamans, Maulbane took another indulgence for the sake of it - Bathing. The entire land was one large rainforest, and as such there was enough water to fill up Deadwind Pass. It wasn't hard to get himself clean with that much water, which was a welcome experience after travelling desert after desert to get there. It felt rewarding.

Now he was walking around Camp Mojache amicably, a slight smile on his lips as he explored calmly. A longhouse here, a wigwam there, Maulbane couldn't deny the place was charming, nestled in the forests. It wasn't a place of war, really, and the inhabitants of Camp Mojache had time to have fun. Hunting, games and shamanistic rituals were all common here, the grunts sent from Thunder Bluff spending time with the other Tauren, and the occasional spiritwalker as equals. It truly was a charming sight, the guards not leering over them like superiors. This town was also much more social than many Orc settlements put together, which is surprising because Orc settlements -were- social. But this town topped most of them, visits to other abodes from strangers was ordinary, down by the river half the population of the town rested by the banks during very humid days, and to not go in circles it was simply a very nice place. He'd live there one day, if he had the chance.

However, he didn't yet. Instead, he felt like taking another walk. He had heard there were beautiful Elven ruins to the West, and although it would probably depress him to see the destruction and remind him of the actions of the Elves so many years ago, he decided to go see them. He would not take his Kodo, the terrain was teacherous and it was commonplace for Kodos to get stuck in mud, swamp and soft ground, all hidden amongst the plants. It would also be inconvenient if he had to fight, with all the trees around his Kodo wouldn't have any time to maneuver around. Gladestomp would probably die.

So, he got on foot, holding Owa'korwi in one hand and a rifle (Just in case; he didn't know these lands, not really) on his back, and that would be all of his weaponary apart from his normal gear - skinning knife and such -. He walked out of Camp Mojache at midday, with a rough idea of where to go. He could track his way back home if he got lost. Mahhal came too, holding his bow in his hands and a large dagger on his back. His green mask was ripped in a few places, but not dirty - Maulbane had made sure of that. He padded along with Maulbane, it was almost impossible to make excessive sound here, the ground was like a bag of marshmallows here. And so they moved on, Maulbane with his spear and Mahhal with his bow, both ready to fight.

Luckily they didn't have to, spotting what was obviously a small ruin up ahead. It looked like a country house, except for half of it having toppled over and the rest being strangled by weeds of every sort. It looked melancholic, assigned and surrendering to its fate, to fade into obscurity. Maulbane simply sat on a log and stared at it, and he began to think of the Maelstrom, and High Elves, then Blood Elves. Mahhal wasn't so deep in thought, looking around suspiciously at every rock and tree, an arrow boredly swinging around from its axis, the axis created by Mahhal's thumb and forefinger, as he was ready to nock an arrow if anything bad happened. All the while, Maulbane was blankly staring at the ruin, thinking in circles about how the world was dying and nothing could be saved. He was pulled violently out of his deep thinking by the snapping of a twig.

Mahhal scrambles for his arrow and pulls it back as quickly as he can, pointing it around like a gun. He moves back into the undergrowth surrounding the destroyed house, because it came from the very house. Maulbane takes a second or two to register the sound and then rolls backwards off the log, pulling the rifle off of his back and looking at the house, alert. Both of them heard a cracking sound, definitely like the cracking of bricks. Then, a snap of a twig here and there. And then the object of their suspicion and fear emerged from around the house, a large Dragonspawn. A yellow underside and dark green hide everywhere else was presented to them as it reared up and examined the building, snorting. At that point Maulbane uttered slowly, almost like a whisper "I think... It may be... Time to leave..." Mahhal just nodded, and the two receded into the undergrowth, moving slowly and with a calm air back to their place of rest.

Neither of them breathed loudly until they got there, and they both let out a sigh of relief when they did. That was close.


	12. The Beastmaster 12

It had been three days since the Ruins. Maulbane had gone out quite a few times since then, on small walks he forced himself to do. Occasionally he found find something marvellous, like a flower larger than him, or a family of Wolves. Other times it was like Feralas was devoid of creatures, or color. The place was amazing because of that, dynamic would be a word to describe it.

Dynamic. Yes, that was the word. There was so much life in this land, and so much ready to be born, that if a lumberjack chopped one of the monolithic trees down the land itself sprung up to cover the remaining stump, and everything around it, with ferns, grass and vines, that grew even faster than that lumberjack's beard. And that was assuming that the tree would even fall. The grass moved like snakes, twisting among and even up the buildings, mountains and trees. Maulbane thought many times that he could actually feel the spores and seeds, hitching rides on the humid gusts of wind that occasionally battled their way through the leaves, and the dampness of them. All of this made it worthwhile to just sit and watch the land move underneath - and above - him, always sewing itself together, and always healing. He was surprised the trees didn't growl themselves when they were struck with axes. Whatever the trees did or didn't do, Maulbane was in his own little paradise in this land.

Today he felt like venturing further out, to the southeast. He could cross the river there from one of the very few fording points along it, and then see where the land would lure him. Presently he pulled out a crisp, crude map of the surrounding area and put a circle around a few spots - spots he wasn't going to go to, for various reasons. One of the locations he scribbled a note next to, in Taurahe: "Gnolls.". One group he would not be meeting today were the Woodpaw Gnolls. He had no intention of being poked full of arrows. So, with dangerous points circled and noted, he set off with his leather armor and spear, with barely anything else. Goretusk kept at his heels as he left. Meanwhile, Mahhal was hunting.

He was between two large trees, the opening only half a meter wide. The Wolf, apparently middle-aged by the look of its paling (and paled, in some spots) fur color, was sitting, surrounded by ferns, grass and trees. Mahhal was holding the bow steadily, an arrowhead aimed for the Wolf's skull. The Wolf boredly scratched its ear, blissfully unaware. Mahhal tried to scratch his, but he was holding his bow and arrow with both hands, so he resorted to rubbing his ear on his shoulder and hoping it went away. After this, and looking around for anything that was looking to get him, he shot the arrow at the Wolf. All looked good as the tension of the bowstring was released, kinetic energy sending the missile in the Wolf's specific direction, but it swerved off-course. As it missed the Wolf, out of spite it decided to brush past every leaf it could get near, and even rustled some just by going past. It hit the ground with a dull thud, mostly cushioned by the grass coating it, but the Wolf had heard everything previous to that, and had already began to run. Mahhal, though, had taken to heart one of Maulbane's lessons, which was "When hunting, you must never stand idle.". He'd begun to nock another arrow as soon as the second was fired, but he fumbled a few times, and when he finally got the arrow onto the string the Wolf was bounding away, into the undergrowth. He sighed loudly to himself in exasperation and fired in the direction where the Wolf ran. What happened next he didn't expect, but he heard a yelp. He started, pushed himself through the hole in the trees quickly and ran after, feeling hopeful. He got to where he heard the yelp (or at least where he hoped it was coming from), and found... Nothing. Nothing except the smallest splash of blood on a leaf about as big as his hand. The leaf was bobbing up and down, signifying that it had been brushed away quickly. Proably by the Wolf. Mahhal put his palm onto his face for a few seconds, sighing again. He was so close. He turned around and began to collect his things, which were left by the trees. When that was done he left, going back to Camp Mojache, dragging his feet morosely. Meanwhile again, Maulbane was having a much better time. Well, at the moment.

He'd been walking for . . . About an hour, now. One hoof after the other, but he wasn't walking manually. His legs were taking him along for a ride, and he was the passenger, looking out and soaking everything in as they explored, Goretusk at his left. Goretusk would sporadically stop and sniff something, be it a tree trunk, puddle or leaf, and catch up by running. So far they had managed to evade the known settlements of the Woodpaw Gnolls, but as Maulbane had seen Feralas was dynamic. There was no reason that the Gnolls could not be dynamic too. This deep into the woods he didn't doubt for a second they had hunting camps this far out of their territory. This area, as far as he could tell, was a political wasteland. The Tauren didn't have a large enough population to settle the thick jungle southeast of te Lower Wilds, and the Gnolls easily had enough gnollpower to consume them. However, they never banded up in large enough numbers to mount an assault on Camp Mojache, and if they did it would be repelled due to the lack of sufficient technology. The Tauren had guns, the Gnolls had crude spears and axes. So, to break the war of attrition, both sides had a dozen or so little camps dotted around this area, and the 'war' between Gnolls and Tauren consisted of little skirmishes between these camps.

To cut a long story short, there were both good guys and bad guys in this neck of the jungle. So, while his legs were on auto-pilot, he held the steering wheel just tightly enough to stay alert. If he bumped into a pack of Dog-men, while he could probably scare them off or, if he had to, kill them with the help of Goretusk, it would ruin his day. Just because he's had enough blood on his hands to fill quite a few of the bathtubs in Stormwind doesn't mean he particularly likes it. Most of the time he prefers the blood on the inside of the animal. In any case, there had been no trouble with animals, or the sentient creatures of Feralas so far. All was well, until... Well, until the Wolf crossed their path. It was a young female, and it had burst out of the undergrowth, a desperate kind of fervor in the way it ran, though he only saw it for a short bundle of moments. It ran past him, barely glancing at him as it darted through the bushes and out of his field of vision. Even before he saw the arrow sticking out of its back he knew it was being hunted. And something must be hunting it. He stumbled back into the relative cover of the tall ferns, Goretusk following suit. Seconds later, the howling and yipping of Gnolls in the -very- close distance. Maulbane sighed. Out of all the places for a Gnoll hunting party . . . He pulled a spear off of his back, laying it down beside him and keeping a hand on it if he had to do something quickly. The first Gnoll that ran by looked rabid, all the parts of its face contributing to the malicious, lunatic snarl. The second had a bow, rather than the first's dagger, and was jogging along, howling at the sky. For what reason lay unspecified, but probably just because they were about to kill something, the perfect reason for howling and hollering in Gnoll society. No matter where they were or what tribe, they never really changed. The second ran past him quickly, not noticing the Tauren hiding in the bushes, or the gigantic Boar.

A minute later and they hadn't returned. Maulbane got up slowly, brushed himself off half-heartedly and continued his walk, going in the opposite direction of the Gnolls. Maybe he would find one of their camps. He kept walking, walking, walking, but all he managed to spot was a rash under his fur, on his hand. The plant he rolled into was probably irritative. The Gnolls, as they hunted, hadn't bothered to watch their step, and so those very unwatched steps were imprinted on every blade of grass they slammed their feet into. It was easy to track them back to their tiny camp, a couple of tents in a clearing about five meters large in a circle. There really was nothing there except the tents and a few crude tools.

He shook his head, turned around and began to go back to Camp Mojache. On his map, at a rough guess he wasn't in friendly territory anymore. Goretusk kept a wary eye on the foliage as they travelled costively. It was only the beginning of the afternoon, and it was better to take their time and remain unnoticed than to run home and bring the whole Gnoll brigade with them too. Three quarters of an hour later, they were at Camp Mojache.

They had dinner (Mahhal hadn't caught anything in the end, so they ate some of the newer rations from the trip), traded stories of their exploits (Or not.) and, without any more words, went to sleep.


	13. The Beastmaster 13

And as he slept, he dreamed.

Snow. So much snow. It stretched far off into the distance, layers and layers of it. There was ice too. He was kneeling in the it, Maulbane of course. And in the snow, not the ice. He had a suit of white leather on, bound together by thick, rope-like stitches. His nose-ring had been absorbing the cold around him for days, and it had begun to sting. A pain, like most, he ignored until he could do something about it. In front of him was a piece of yellowed, ripped parchment, with lines, circles and scribbles on it. He sneezed once, and looked around fleetingly. Goretusk was at his left, and two others at his right. A Human and an Elf. Lethium and Seleyn. He looked back to the paper, the lines began to make sense. He knew what he had to do, standing up and walking forward, pushing the parchment into the snow as he did so. His axe tugged at his back, and the leather holding it there. Goretusk followed suit, as did the silent companions. Nobody talked because they knew what they had to do. As they walked the woods around them thickened, the further they went into Lothalor's woods the more trees appeared in the edges of their vision. One of the only true forests remaining in Dragonblight. Sadly enough, it was tainted.

Testament to that taint was rearing its head. They had managed to avoid most of the malignant mana wyrms here, but slowly and surely the ley lines in the area multiplied, and were larger. And where there were ley lines in Northrend, Malygos had intentions for them. Mana Wyrms were in the air, their forms made of swirling arcane energy and their movement like smoke, flitting from spot to spot. Arcane energy was bubbling at the surface of the ground in some places. And, soon enough, they found what they were looking for. It looked like an Ancient of War, but it wasn't one, not anymore. Arcane swirled around the huge tusks protruding from its head, and moved in patterns around its body. The most haunting part, though, was its eyes. People tend to describe beautiful people, or their beloveds, as having "Pools" for eyes. This corrupted Ancient had pools of malignant Arcane energy for eyes, erratically spinning and looping around itself, as it roared and screamed, out of pure rage or desperation Maulbane didn't know. What he did know is that they had to kill it, corruption or none.

Minutes later, it was falling. Like a tree that had been cut down it descended without trying to re-right itself, and when it slammed into the ground, into the cleverly designed trap, it burst into furious action. It tried as hard as it could to destroy Maulbane as he calmly walked up to it. It was stuck in place by its head, and the trees that held it there began to creak and snap as it pushed itself back desperately, roaring almost deafeningly. All while the eyes squirmed, like a maelstrom unto themselves, a thousand purple fireflies. . . Maulbane could barely hear anything as he walked up to the Ancient. He didn't hear Lethium scream at him to hurry up, he didn't hear Seleyn's bowstring strike backwards as she shot at it in vain, he didn't hear Goretusk cough in pain, having been knocked into another tree.

All he heard was his harpoon colliding with the Ancient's head. It sounding like ripping a tree in half, the first layer of wood buckling, the arcane corruption making sure the Corrupted Ancient's thick skin was weak and susceptible to damage. And so the harpoon plowed through its head. It took the Ancient a long time to die, and the purple, vaporousness in its eyes left. He just stood there after it died, trying to figure out why he felt so bad. He just saved it from corruption, after all... And then...

His balance shifted, his vision felt like a rainbow had burst into his head, and he could taste metal. It passed, slowly, and he was awake. Around him was his yurt, Mahhal, Filestrider and Goretusk, all asleep. Judging from the weak rays of sun poking through the trees it was the very early morning. Very early. He groaned, shaking his head, which felt like it had a mixture of sand and salt water in it. He'd been getting these dreams for a month now, on and off. It was starting to perplex and irritate him to the point where he would ask himself, in his head, if he'd eaten poison. He quickly discarded those ridiculous thoughts though...

However, he did have to see someone about these dreams. He was going to go to one of the elders as soon as he could, maybe a Druid.

...Right after he caught up on a bit of sleep.


	14. The Beastmaster 14

And catch up he did. He managed to sneak in an hour or so of sleep before waking up again. When he did wake up, Mahhal and his pet were already gone. The first time in the entire trip that had happened. Goretusk was lying down outside like a rug, snout in the grass. The blades moved back and forward with the Boar's breath as it respired boredly. He'd been waiting for Maulbane to wake up for quite a while, as he'd woken up when Mahhal did half an hour earlier. Presently, Maulbane rose up and buckled on some of his leather armor pieces. Then, he went out to greet the land of Feralas, and in a way it greeted him back. The sun was pleasant, people were already up and from what he could tell at this distance, the water was probably going to be tepid today.

However, he wasn't going for a swim, he had other things to do, and as he remembered that his dream came back by extension. He thought he would have stopped being haunted by that damn sight by now, but there it was, always returning when he thought he'd gotten over it. And it wasn't that he killed it, or ended what little life it had left. It was the eyes, and what he saw in them. Always the eyes. He sighed and walked along the moss-covered road, shaking his head. He was never the type to get nightmares, not until he went to collect those flowers. He spat, just at the thought of all of that. It was amazing, he mused as he sat in a small glade, probably left after someone moved on from the town. Most Humans, even the ones who experienced Arthas' betrayal in Lordaeron, didn't see as much evil in years that Maulbane had seen in a single week. It was combination of corrupted Arcane, Demons, the Undead and the Forsaken in Arathi. He tried to chuckle at the sheer lack of luck he had with that trip, but no mirth came out of it, and it vitiated into a long, helpless sigh, with Goretusk looking over to him, perplexed. If his life was a road, the Flowers expedition was a fire following him from behind. He had to move on or he'd be engulfed.

And so, he took his own advice. He got up, brushed off his ankles and began down the road again to the Elders' longhouse. It was a large building, one of the many permenant abodes in the Camp. It housed most of the venerable Tauren in it, Druids, Shamans, Sages and a few Spiritwalkers all sharing the residence. After a respectful exchange of nods with the guard at the door, he entered. Unmistakable was the feel of natural and primal magic in the air around them, and even as he walked through the longhouse he saw two Shamans peering, askance, into a bowl of what appeared to be dew. He didn't stop to observe, and soon he was before a (currently nameless) sage. The sage himself was not very old, perhaps a few years the junior of Maulbane even. However, Maulbane inclined his head deeply and sat, cross-legged, before him. The Sage spoke after seating himself, his cerulean robe flowing just as much as his words.

"What brings you here, Shu'halo?" The Sage's eyes, a light brown, fall upon the many ceremonial adornments around his person. He was no child, but the Sage's eyes still held a youthful curiosity about them.

"Elder, I-..." Maulbane takes a moment to think his next words through. "I have been having dreams." If he were a Human he would have been laughed off, of course, but Tauren culture was much different.

"How grave are these dreams?" The eyes watch him carefully still.

"They are always plagued by death. I have come to fear I am tainted." The Sage raises an eyebrow, or rather the hair where an eyebrow would be.

"That is a dire thing to say, Shu'halo. How long have you had these dreams, when did they start?" Maulbane's mind trails back to exactly -when- he had the first one.

For a moment his mind trails back to when he was still on the Flowers expedition, and he remembers the first of many, and how it seemed so tame. He should have seen it as the prelude to this.

"I remember the first dream, a month ago. Maybe two... I was in a Goblin town..." The Sage hurried him on, eyes slightly probing.

"The town is not important, Hunter. It is what happened in the dream." Maulbane nodded, feeling slightly sheepish under the Sage's intent gaze.

"I was attacked by a Wolf. The... The only thing I can remember in detail is it being killed. . ." Maulbane trailed off, trying to remember anything else except the Prairie Wolf's eyes, and the sound of its spine snapping. . .

"Is that so...? Well... Is there anything else that can link these dreams together apart from death?" The Sage didn't lower his gaze at all. Maulbane thought hard, then nodded.

"All of the things that happen in my dreams, are from my memories." He hadn't paid attention before to the fact that all his dreams were, from what he saw to what he heard, exact replicas of past events. It unnerved him now that he pieced it together.

"You know, Tauren, dreams are supposed to be symbols from the Earthmother. Words of wisdom... Not past experiences replaying themselves..." The Sage did seem perplexed at this. Maulbane let out a slight shrug.

"I do not understand either. Perhaps they are symbols?" He spoke with a hopeful tone in his voice, like the child that said "Maybe he didn't really die, he just ran away..." when talking about their beloved childhood dog.

"I must be honest with you, Tauren, I do not know. Maybe if it were a simple dream about falling through an endless tunnel..." The Sage shook his head, eyes piercing and not just observant now. "No. But, I know someone who may be able to aid you."

"I would appreciate it more than anything at the moment, Elder. Who would it be, that you wish to send me to?" They eyes turned to him, critical, but only for a moment. They softened in the way a captain's does, not a friendly grandmother's.

"Skoram Firebloom." Maulbane nodded a "Thank you, Elder", commiting the name to memory before rising, pushing himself up without his arms, nodding to him again, and began to walk out again.

It was only when he got out of the Longhouse and began moving down the path again that he remembered the name. The same Skoram Firebloom who lived on the other side of the river, away from the Camp.

The same Skoram Firebloom that had a white pelt.

The Spiritwalker. . .


	15. The Beastmaster 15

Skoram Firebloom. The name Skoram was common, or at least it sounded common for a Tauren name. As did Firebloom. An ordinary Tauren except for the obvious things. It was hard for him to understand why, of all people, he was being sent to a Spiritwalker. He supposed it was true that they held a bond with the Emerald Dream, but what does that have to do with his not-so-emerald dreams? He wouldn't question destiny, though, which is what appeared to be in action here. So, he got up, put on light leather and cloth to keep himself warm in that cold, dew-ish period of morning and set out toward Skoram's home. He had a good idea of where it was, having walked around the area quite a few times. He left his hut in the morning, and it would only be a half an hour walk if a demon, undead or some kind of malevolent voodoo monster didn't waylay him. He did have his bandoleer, as usual, but it only had a few tools he would always need. Skinning knife, flint and tinder, et cetera. He would use those if he got lost (on the off-chance) or something unexpected occurred. And they often did.

So, he walked down the road, down another path and down the bank of the river until he reached the common fording point. It was only half a meter deep here, where sand and rocks had been placed underwater to make it much easier to cross. There was another Tauren crossing as he was, and he politely nodded as he crossed, and the nod was returned. They went their separate ways there. When he reached the other side of the river he knelt down and pulled a map out of his bandoleer, which had been folded up many, many times. As he examined it he didn't notice Goretusk sidle up to him, sniffing slightly at his side as he read the map. He didn't even know Goretusk had followed him, and the Boar was definitely no rogue. If anything, Goretusk was a giant ham. But then again, that didn't do him justice. He gave that note an addendum in his mind, "A giant ham that could crush and rip you apart", smirking slightly. Mostly because it was true. He multi-tasked, reading the map and humoring himself about Goretusk. But it wasn't at the Boar's expense. No, Maulbane wouldn't make fun of Goretusk even if he couldn't understand him. It would be like stabbing a friend in the back. A furry, tusked, adamant and stubborn friend, but a friend regardless. Probably a better friend than most he had met, really. At any rate, his mind was wandering. He was late, for a very important date.

Skoram Firebloom was sitting on the dirt outside his home, which was a sturdy cloth-and-leather tent perched on a hill, overshadowed by trees. The leather was bleached a weak wheat color from almost a decade of the elements, but that also just proved how powerful it was. A decade ago he put it up, after all. He didn't have the physical strength anymore to skin the same amount of Kodos he did to make the tent. He traded that for a different kind of strength, one he appreciated much more. Right now, he was simply sitting. He wasn't performing any fancy rituals. Just sitting down, his mind blank. He repeated his name once, in his mind. Not for any particular reason except it helped his meditative state. Then, he heard his name called again, but with a questioning tone. And not his voice.

Maulbane had hiked up the hill to where the blue-robed Elder had placed a cyan mark on his map with a crayon-like instrument. In front of him was a ball of white formed into the shape of a Tauren, and, behind him, a pale hut. It looked like he'd flown up into the clouds, he smirked for a moment. The smirk left his face faster than Skoram's idleness as the two eyes looked up at him. Some say you can see many things in eyes, well, Maulbane did. They weren't like normal eyes. They had irises, corneas... But other things. There was occasionally a swirling milkiness, that reminded him of a hurricane, just behind them. Not completely noticeable at first, it just looked like his eyes were churning. And they probably were, Maulbane mused to himself. Goretusk was by his side, sitting down and preparing to attack if he needed to. In the many years Goretusk had followed Maulbane ... Doggedly ... Unnatural looking creatures never meant anything good. For once, they did. For now.

Skoram rose up, pushing himself slightly with his arm, giving away that slight immortal tone his appearance gave with a sign of age. Mortality, despite his wisdom and knowledge that seemingly flowed like strands.

"Who are you?" The voice.

"Maulbane." The air felt light, despite being much higher up than normal. Fluffy, almost.  
"Yes. I know." The same voice, except not really. Calling it three voices at the same time wouldn't do it justice, either. It was neither one, two or three. Indescribable.

"You know why I am here?" Maulbane half-knew the answer before he said it.

"Yes. Sit." It was not a commanding tone, much more that of a host.

He sat adjacent to him, and they both slid down into comfortable, seated positions. Skoram spoke again, eyes never truly static.

"You have been having dreams." Maulbane wondered, as he responded, just how much he knew about him.

"I have." The Spiritwalker closed his eyes, nodding once and opening them again.

"Tarmuuk sent me a message, Hunter. You say you dream of death?" He did not know who Tarmuuk was. Apparently it was the Elder who sent him here. He nodded.

"You also say you are tainted?" Maulbane looked at him for a while, and then nodded.

"I do not believe it could be anything else, Spiritwalker." Skoram breathed slowly, nodding.

"It is possible... Possible. I do not believe it, though." Maulbane gritted his teeth slight, nodding.

"What do you think it could be then...?" He had a hopeful tone.

"I still believe it is a sign of some sort. Or many signs." Maulbane was silent.

"Most certainly signs... Using former memories to intensify themselves... And in that case..." He looked down, then back up at the slightly confused Hunter.

"You know you would not have been sent this far if it wasn't a unique case, Maulbane." Maulbane didn't fully understand. He nodded anyway, despite his best wishes.

"Tarmuuk is young, but he sensed something in you when you spoke of your dreams. He is an experienced Shaman." Maulbane did understand this.

"To explore yourself, Maulbane, you will have to explore, yourself. The exploring that we have in mind is not what you would expect." Maulbane spoke, finally.

"Skoram, then what am I to do? Where should I go?" Skoram had the lightest of smiles on the emotionless face for a moment, before speaking bluntly.

"You should leave now. Tomorrow you are to collect three plants. A Purple Lotus, one Goldthorn flower and stem of Liferoot. The day after that, you will return. When you do return, you must clear your mind of any possible stress."

Maulbane nodded. All of this seemed like it could work. He stood up and turned to leave, and only when he was about to begin descending the mountain he turned and asked, probably quite brashly...

"What are all these things for, Spiritwalker?" Skoram turned back, and said slowly

"To attune yourself to The Dream."

...Wait... What?


	16. The Beastmaster 16

Pat, pat, pat. That was the only sound his hooves made on the ground, which was just the slightest bit damp to muffle the normally heavy, thudding sounds of his hooves. He was on foot, in full leather armor, rifle on his back and a spear in a three-phalanged grasp, pointing the road ahead for him. That is, if there was a road at all. He was pushing through ferns, vines, branches and leaves on his trip, but everything was fairly wet due to rain so it was easy for him to stalk through the undergrowth silently. Goretusk was seven meters to his left, moving ponderingly, with many pauses, searching the grass around him, snout proudly ahead of him as they examined every square meter they could see. Goretusk was in half-armor, flanks protected by plates of custom-forged steel. He still remembered commisioning that armor. It was after he returned from Stranglethorn Vale, that trip where he ended up hunting down a Panther. It cost quite a lot, as the metal was definitely not weak. He think the armorer in question, a huge-looking Orc, spoke of trimming as well when he was doing the work. It was probably why the finished product looked so ornate.

So, a crack here, a snap there, that was all you would have heard as Maulbane and Goretusk stalked the wilderness for one flower, Purple Lotus. He had already easily got the two others with no problems, the Goldthorn actually being sold in Camp Mojache and the Liferoot was very simple to identify and pick. Purple Lotus was more difficult, but he had high hopes. But he couldn't shake that dread - So much had gone wrong last time he picked flowers. Maybe he was going down the wrong road again? But this time it wasn't to aid a probably malefic Forsaken's ideals, it was for his own benefit. Surely the Earthmother approved of what he was doing, and maybe he could amend for what he had done, over time. There was a lot he had done. He still blamed himself, but there were times he wondered if he had no choice, that it was all predetermined to happen to him before he decided. Even then...

Goretusk suddenly stopped. He could tell, the shuffling suddenly stopped and there was a slight sniffing at the ground. He doubted even a Sentinel could hear the minute sounds he could, and if they could they would never be able to attribute it to the very animal that was making them. In any case, Goretusk was sniffing. Maulbane walked towards where he assumed he was, as they were walking parallel all this time, and found Goretusk with his snout buried in a small group of mushrooms. He sighed, and nudged Goretusk slightly with his toe. The Boar hurriedly finished the mushrooms and looked up to him, slightly apprehensive. Maulbane spoke softly in Taurahe to the Boar, the simple words would have translated to "Come on". The Boar looked back in the direction they were going and putted along contently. At least he wouldn't have to be fed for a while, now. Maulbane went back to the spot he was at before and kept going on. The flower grew around here, so it was only a matter of time.

It turns out that "it" was only a matter of time in the end. Goretusk stopped again, and he slowly walked over, hopes high. Sure enough, nestled in grass, was a single Purple Lotus. Goretusk plucked it out of the ground with his teeth, brought it over to Maulbane, and dropped it. With that the Boar lay down, having done what he needed to do. Maulbane examined the flower for a while, and it indeed was the right one. He took it up slowly. There was no wind, and by extension no need to hurry. He placed it in an empty pouch and turned around. He was lucky to have turned around at that time.

There was a blue thing speeding towards him. Even if he was ready he wouldn't have been able to dodge it. It collided into him and the unidentified assailant rolled with him for a few seconds, before kicking into the air off of him. Maulbane responded quickly, trying to unfasten his rifle from his back, as the Hippogryph flapped above him. Goretusk stood next to Maulbane, not being able to jump high enough to counter-attack. After ten seconds the Hippogryph descended, far from them, watching him and the rifle pointed at it. It was a male, and it looked powerful and angry. Probably trying to defend its territory considering he had strayed into the High Wilderness. Maulbane was slightly irritated that he had been slammed into, but he didn't hold grudges, especially not to a creature as proud as the Hippogryph. He sighed, putting the rifle away and collecting his spear, which had slipped out of his hands when the force of the swooping Hippogryph hit him. He kept one eye on it, it appeared to be growling at him.

He left slowly, with three more plants on his person than he had before. Why was it that whenever he got near flowers, bad things happened to him?


	17. The Beastmaster 17

Three flowers, a Tauren, a Boar and a backpack, as well as some clothes went up the mountain. It probably sounded like a joke, but the two figures scaling the sharp, densely filled with trees, and plain slippery terrain were not jovial. Goretusk was always ahead of him, bounding up the incline without trouble. Maulbane was taking his time, his only weapon a flexible wooden staff that groaned when pressure was placed on it, bending with the downwards force. Goretusk occasionally looked back, but mostly just went ahead and ahead, sometimes stopped to let the Tauren catch up. Not that he was tired, that is. He was still at his physical peak, he just didn't feel like pointless exertion. There was still quite a ways to go up the system of hills, and Maulbane had to converse his energy for what lay ahead. No doubt it would be very, very draining.

And so, Skoram was eating. A piece of flavorless bread, baked from the small amount of grain that grew in the small areas of fertile land that would actually allow it to grow, but even then it was mostly grass, herb and the occasional flower compacted into the thing. It didn't matter to the Spiritwalker, he could barely taste at all anymore. He placed the half-finished morsel down as, lo and behold, Maulbane and Goretusk arrived. He stood quickly, eyes flashing over the two and back to the ground, and what lay on it - A simple mat. The Spiritwalker's small home was almost ten meters away from the mat, which was held down by four rocks on each corner. Grimly, Maulbane handed the three flowers to Skoram Firebloom, who, without speaking, knelt with a mortar and pestle and crushed them into a rough paste, held together with a kind of sap, from what Maulbane could see. The Spiritwalker then held a pouch of Earthmother-knows-what over the concoction and tipped it quickly. It didn't have much in it, and a miniscule amount of herbs - rare ones, from what Maul could tell - and dust. Some kind of dust, anyway. It set onto the mixture of damp, crushed flower and sap, sinking in gently. The pestle was placed onto the ground, and picked up again after Skoram had what he needed - a cup. It was made of wood, almost certainly hand-made by the Spiritwalker himself, and more like a mug. The sides were thick enough. The mixture went into the mug and, in his authoritative voice, Skoram stated... "Drink.". Maulbane didn't really have a reason not to. He sat slowly and painstakingly, very nervous, onto the mat, roughly in the center, and crossed his legs. He took the cup, and then... He took a sip, and slowly...

He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe, and he definitely couldn't cry for help. Everything was shimmering and swirling, and he felt like his mind was being drilled into by a Goblin with a pickaxe. Goretusk began to snarl and squeal in alarm, because if it wasn't for the mixture he had just consumed it would look like he was having a heart attack. Maulbane closed his eyes within two seconds of the searing pain, and he could see things sloshing in the corner of his eyes, like a green sea. The pain was subsiding, but that didn't mean much, as he felt he had a severe migraine even then. But, he could wiggle around now, not paralyzed like he was, three seconds prior to this moment. He shifted in pain as he sat, as Goretusk was confused, snarling and snapping at Skoram, who simply watched over Maulbane, whose pained movements were subsiding very slowly. It took two minutes of an increasingly fearful Goretusk and patient Spiritwalker until he was sedated fully, for lack of a better word. Maulbane's eyes were closed, his heart rate had slowed to at least one fifth of its original speed, and his breaths were slow and more token actions than actually needed. After all, he wasn't really there anymore.

Everything was green. He was in the same spot he was before, except nothing was there. Well, to say that would be a lie - There we much more there than before, but there was no Goretusk, no mat, and no hut. The trees covered everything. He could roughly see a transparent, wavy outline of a Tauren next to him, and it began to solidify over the course of half a minute. He didn't take too much notice of that, though, instead he took in the land itself. The sky was amazing, a shade of greenish-blue not even known in Feralas, or even Teldrassil, the grass, and most of the ground itself was verdant in its shade, and there were animals. Even up on this high plateau there were many animals, most of them oblivious - or uncaring - to Maulbane's existence. As Skoram Firebloom came to exist in the Emerald Dream, Maulbane sighed as he noticed one little detail.

He couldn't move.

His Spiritwalker Mentor rose up, and Maulbane noticed it was hard to see him properly, he was more of a dark mass than a figure. It was slightly distressing for him, he felt blind and paralyzed in this plane. However, soon Skoram helped him up with a single hand. His frailty was nonexistant here, and he was definitely stronger "physically" than Maulbane in the Dream. He took a while to rise, as his legs didn't feel like they existed properly, more like ethereal objects that wanted to move by their own accord. However, he did manage to drag one across the ground, and as he looked down for the second time he did notice his body was awfully fuzzy. Skoram stated, voice not booming like in the plane of Azeroth, but more of a song-like, resonant tone.

"Keep your mind here. Do not let it wander, or you will not stay dreaming or long."

Maulbane was confused at that, but he did what was asked of him. He kept his concentration on his hoof, which was taking its time in materialising, and he felt like he was going to fall over. Skoram kept him upright for now, though, and he was fortunate of that. So, he finally stood on his own two hooves, on a plateau in the middle of Feralas. Well, not really Feralas. It probably had another name in the Dream, he was sure. It would take a while to get used to this. Quite a while. He whispered to himself, his voice sounding weak and ghost-like "The Emerald Dream..." He looked to Skoram, and his voice croaked and whistled, being tossed and turned by the wind and elements themselves, which were proving stronger than his vocal chords in this realm... "What are we to do, master?"

Skoram chuckled, a healthy, full sound, if a little bit awkward, and turned to Maulbane, simply saying "Explore."

_I've been told by Skoram to write diary entries as soon as I exit the Emerald Dream. His explanation was, I think, that he said I may forget if I leave it too long. I can read these entries to recall the events if I forgot them then. So I have taken his advice and taken pen to paper. Well, not pen to paper. The Orcs look at me funny, but I'm not a Human yet - yet. I'm joking, I don't think I'm a pink-one yet, but I haven't looked in a mirror for a while... Anyway, I think I should write about what happened. It's hard to say. The most that I can remember is pain, a lot of pain. Then we just walked. Well the truth is it was more like tripping for me, and even then it was not like tripping. It was... Being in a body I didn't know. Well, except I did know it. I'm not the best writer._

_I suppose what I'm trying to say is, today was hard. I lost concentration multiple times and I was shouted at by Skoram, but that was probably just to help me snap out of the trance I was in. I think I was in one, anyway. He probably knows best._

_Skoram also told me to talk about the sights. I don't think it's possible. It would be like describing a whole world on a little piece of paper, and I am trying to do that right now. I do not think it is possible. But I'll try my hand at it, and probably not for long because it's starting to ache. The entire world was amazing. It was hard to cope with the sheer amount of life. Yes, the word I would use is life. Life everywhere, and it was all green, and vivid shades of it. There were purples, yellows, reds and oranges, and Skoram wasn't even fazed, not like me. When I could see properly I could barely take it all in._

_I think that's enough for tonight._


	18. The Beastmaster 18

Five days later.

They hadn't done much. Well, they explored. He was content with that at the moment.

The first day was full of discovery, and Maulbane was never bored, but it was trying on his spirit to adapt to a whole new plane. He felt like a Shaman. Though he managed to consolidate his writhing, messy form over the course of the day, he still felt like he wasn't supposed to be there, and that the place was rejecting his shape and form at every turn. Walking was hard. He began to slip out of the Dream if his mind focused to hard on the surroundings and not the conscious movement of his legs, and the movement of the rest of his body, and after a long time like this he felt like both the puppet and the puppeteer. The Spiritwalker had absolutely no problem moving, on the other hand. On the second day the animals came out properly, and he managed to get control of his wispy form enough to watch them move in detail. They looked like animals on Azeroth, except a quarter as alert. They seemed carefree. They probably were. The Dream was devoid of guns, or even bows. Unless the Druids sneaked them in, and Skoram had told them Druids like that were repelled by less than pacifist means. And as he talked about being repelled Maulbane wondered if he would be as well, then he remembered he wasn't in his physical form here. He would just seem like a Druid, he decided. The third and fourth days consisted of walking, and he continued to forget that this wasn't like travelling in Azeroth, he didn't have to find somewhere to sleep and when he woke he was at the same place he started at. So he didn't have to worry about logistics or turning back. The land followed the shape of Azeroth, because the two planes were almost exactly the same geographically. At least here. He wondered what it would be like in Durotar, but he doubted he would be able to get there in this form, and even then he wouldn't know where to go... Anything. If Skoram wasn't there he would just meander around, lost. He had fears of becoming an Unwaking One occasionally, but Skoram was there and with a Spiritwalker like him he had nothing to fear, truly.

When he left the dream it took a while to adapt -back- to the physical world, but he managed. Mahhal was missing during the day, hunting whenever he had free time. In only a week or two he had improved his skills by an amazing amount, and when he went out to hunt, most of the time he got what he was looking for, and lots of it. Despite their mutual respect, they talked less and less as Maulbane trained more. He felt distant, he couldn't really talk about the Dream because it was almost incomprehendable, so there wasn't really much to talk about as they ate in the small hut they resided in. Despite his long time in the Dream, he spent a lot of time with Goretusk, and managed to fit in walks every two days or so.

On the sixth day they found something interesting. After hours (Approximately) of walking north they found... Something. Skoram stared intently at the wide trail of destruction for a few seconds and turned around. Maulbane didn't ask questions, the action was enough to send him following quickly. When they got out of range of the slightly bubbling, engrossing black substance, Maulbane couldn't contain his thoughts and asked:

"What was that? Why did we run from it?" Skoram turned to Maulbane, his eyes as powerful and radiant as ever, but with a tinge of resentment.

"Nothing is perfect." And, rather dramatically, he turned and walked towards a thin area of woodland. Maulbane had no other choice than to follow, and they continued on. Maulbane's mind lingered on the trail of what looked like tar, but he had more to see. And soon, very soon, much more important trials would take place for him here. He would have to know how to move competently and keep his mind dreaming the good dream in order to complete it. He had forgotten for a while why he was sent here. But Skoram didn't, and he had plans for the Hunter, delicate plans. Having Maulbane run into patches of the Emerald Nightmare could rip that plan apart. Corruption was not part of his training. However, fighting it would be, possibly.

They kept walking. Their hooves left lasting imprints on the ground, Skoram's more than Maulbane's, as they moved. Maulbane had the same carefree feeling a child has as they walk along a road with a parent. They knew they were safe, and they didn't care where they went, because they would end up home. Maulbane concentrated on his feet, which were taking more and more of a prescense among the ground as he walked. And the ground was beautiful enough to snatch his view on occasion, even when he didn't want to. And at times his eyes wandered all over the landscape. The trees were thick, the roots and trunks unhindered by any form of technology or other unnatural force. Lichen grew on almost every side of those trees, which some of the animals there ate. The sky was... Mostly like the sky back where he was from. And on the subject of animals...

"Maulbane. You first test begins." His head snapped to his tutor. He didn't expect a test, a trial, a challenge of any sort this early. His mind wasn't exactly racing, but he was confused. He then noticed what they had stopped in front of, a Wolf, a large one. It looked like it was dreaming, padding peacefully through the open forest. Skoram knelt, as it hadn't seen them yet, and spoke "Approach it." And so, Maulbane was even more confused. But he did so, of course. The Wolf regarded the Tauren, and it was just as confused. It stepped back quickly, almost tripping over its feet, but it was not outrightly hostile like it would be in the waking world. Maulbane approached very slowly, taking his time to make sure the Wolf didn't get a fright, and eventually knelt beside the Wolf. Up close he could examine it as it looked up at him suspiciously. It had bland, grey fur, and on its back was a patch of bloody, matted fur. Maulbane wondered idly what it was before the Wolf stepped back again, confused still. Maulbane held his left hand out to the slowly retreating Wolf, and it hesitantly returned, to sniff it, equally as hesitantly. After a few seconds it turned around and began to walk off, and Maulbane gave up what he was doing. He walked back to Skoram, feeling like he'd failed. The truth was far from it.

"If you were any normal Tauren it would have run. You understand this?" Maulbane didn't really, but nodded anyway.

"You have more than potential." He slowly turned around and looked at the surroundings, with a calm atmosphere about him.

"You said that in all of your dreams, they were plagued by death?" Maulbane's eyes widened for a second, reminded of why he was here in the first place.

"Yes, mentor. All of them." Skoram turned back to eye his expression, which was a mixture of confusion and confidence in what he was saying.

"Did you never think that it was not death you were seeing, but release?" Maulbane just eyed him, not a mixture of anything, just plainly perplexed.

"When a creature's corpereal form is destroyed, the soul remains here. There is nothing evil in the simple act of death." Maulbane was less confused, and went to ask...

"So I am not tainted? I still have The Earthmother's blessing, Skoram?" His reply was a firm nod, and then he said something else.

"But, Maulbane, that is not why you were sent here." Blink after blink proceeded, the perfect partners to the blank stare.

"I see a Beastmaster in you yet."


	19. The Beastmaster 19

Another eight days later.

Maulbane and Goretusk were sleeping. At Skoram's request they had both gone through tremendous physical strain running up and down one of the particularly steep parts of the hill. Truth be told Maulbane hadn't run that hard or long for many years. Maybe a decade. Skoram had asked them not to stop until a quarter of an hour had passed, and while Maulbane managed to roughly keep jogging up and down, panting heavily and wheezing, Goretusk, not understanding or caring the instructions, dropped out at least five minutes earlier, opting to watch his companion run up and down from the relative shade of one of the large tree trunks. Maulbane envied the ability to do that, but Skoram wouldn't have been as forgiving if he did that. So, he slept with burning legs and mind, having sustained a malignant headache shortly after the run. The reason behind the run was emphasised, as Maulbane spent most of his waking (and not-as-waking, to be true) time in The Dream lately. The Dream was keeping his spirit and mind at peaks never experienced before, but his body was being neglected. So, Skoram had seen fit to fix that in a greivous way. He felt empathy for Maulbane's plight, watching him go up and down more times than he cared to remember, but he felt detached at the same time. Not uncaring, just having a hard time understanding. Long ago he had shed ordinary "feelings", they were far too hard to keep a track of and manage. Especially when his decided to change as they desired.

And so, Maulbane snored. Skoram had offered to let him sleep on his little mesa up in the hills, as Maulbane looked ready to fall unconscious at the mere thought of a hike, even downhill. So they slept under the stars, all three of them slumbering dreamlessly for once. Except Goretusk, who dreamt of giant Scorpions trying to eat him. He would occasionally roll and whine in his sleep, considering he had a fear of Scorpions. They say the most resonant memories memories of your life are from your childhood, maybe it's true for Boars as well. Goretusk remembers to this day, as a small runt, keeping his distance from the many Scorpions who thought him a great snack, despite being half his size. He would run every time from their metallic appearance, and claws.

When he woke up Maulbane was already dreaming. He plodded over to the comatose Tauren in a vaguely sitting position, whose eyes were eyes closed and brow furrowed in a comical, meditative state. Skoram was off a few meters away in the same pose. Goretusk discarded it boredly, considering it had happened for almost two weeks now. So, Goretusk did what he always did. He explored.

His first victim was a plant. What kind of plant Goretusk didn't know, but he'd ate it before. So he ate it now, and soon the small waist-high (For a Tauren) fern-like piece of foliage was in his stomach for the most part. A dejected looking skeleton was left, which Goretusk left as well, respectively. This was the first of many, considering it was only a meter away from where he was a few moments ago. Goretusk was one of the animals that appreciated the finer things in life - namely consuming anything edible. Well, to be honest maybe it wasn't one of the finer things, but it was fine for him. Most Boars were omnivorious, and Goretusk was no different. It made feeding him very easy for Maulbane, which was a lifesend considering unlike many of those fancy Hunters that barely ever step out of Ratchet these days, the places he trodded didn't have a Pet-mart for thousands of kilometers. If there was even such thing as a pet-mart. Knowing Goblins, there probably was. Back to the subject at hand, Goretusk ate anything. Mushrooms, Fish, Raw Meat, Cooked Meat, Vegetables, Fruit, Bread, Cheese... Grass. Goretusk would devour anything that was alive, is alive, or wasn't alive in some cases. At this point many would protest at the lack of any care whatsoever by Maulbane as to what his companion ate, but though the term Pet is used, Goretusk was hardly that. Maulbane would actually be offended for his friend's sake. Goretusk was hardly an idiot, or some dumb beast. Why would he need to keep an eye on what he ate? For him it was an absurd notion, he trusted Goretusk as a companion much more than a tool or means to an end.

Said companion was currently striding through the forest. Well, striding as much as you can, having as short legs as he. His trotters were still aching from yesterday's run, which while shorter than Maulbane's was still tiring. He'd ate his fill of assorted mushrooms, small animal carcasses (Most days old; he salvaged the remaining meat as well as he could) and other goodies until his stomach stopped complaining. Contrary to Maulbane's jokes, it did. Eventually. Hours later, at about midday, when the sun was just at the peak of the sky, beginning to head west already, Goretusk was resting. He'd found his favorite spot to do this, a cleft in a mass of gigantic roots and vines by a particularly large tree. Most of the time he slept here as he awaited Maulbane's return from whatever he was doing. However, this time was different. This time he heard a growl, just in front of him, as his eyes were closed.

The Boar's pupils widened as his eyes dilated to the light, and when the blurriness receded three shapes remained. Three gray-furred shapes, with teeth bared. Of all the places for Wolves to be, it had to be here. Goretusk wasted no time in pushing himself up quickly, and the Wolves turned to look at him properly. Chances were, very heavily so, that they'd never seen a Boar. What they were looking at now was scary-looking, but it was only one of them, and they were hungry. By now Goretusk had let out a loud, sharp squeal, and despite having never seen a creature like this, the Wolves knew it meant to back off. But they still advanced on Goretusk as his quills rose angrily, slightly shaking and making a light sound as they brushed against eachother. The largest of the group, but still slightly smaller than the Boar as it stood up completely, leapt into the air at him then. Goretusk stepped as fast as he could to the side and, as hard as he could, slammed the side of his head, and the tusks on it, into the incoming Wolf. It worked, knocking it off course and trapping its leg inbetween two roots. The second strafed Goretusk for a few paces before leaping as well, a fatal decision. The Boar's tusks met him instead of the ground as he landed, impaling his neck on two of them at once. Goretusk squirmed for a moment, shaking the Wolf off of his tusks, but he didn't manage to get them off before the third snapped at his flank, managing to take off a superficial amount of skin. As Goretusk ripped his tusks off of one Wolf he was knocked aside, the Wolf rolling with him for a second into a clear patch of grass before snapping wildly at his neck. Goretusk didn't like that one bit. In a few quick movements he rolled over, also pushing the Wolf away, got up, and slashed with his little implements of death while biting at the same time. The ruthress combination got the Wolf a cut across the face and a pair of jaws and rows of teeth around his snout in the same movement. Painfully, Goretusk clamped his jaws shut and shook his head from side to side, and didn't stop until he heard a snap.

With that, there was only one problem left. Goretusk walked over to the still-trapped Wolf, and a few seconds later there was no more problem. The third Wolf was dead, his throat ripped open by Goretusk's canines and incisors. There were now three fresh corpses around him, and all that exertion was making him hungry again.

As he ate, he looked at something odd in the corner of his eye - The Wolf that he killed, the one trapped in the roots, had an arrow in its back.


	20. The Beastmaster 20

Angus' eyes opened slowly, putting a soft amber glow on his wrinkled face. His tongue quickly ran across his dry lips. The Kal'dorei gazed up at the wooden ceiling and sighed. Well, it wasn't really a sigh. Perhaps it was something between that and a short yawn. He got his arms out of the thin blanket's grasp and stretched them up before turning his head to the side, pressing it to the hay-filled pillow even harder. He gazed out through the "window". Actually, it looked more like a huge hole in the wall. The full moon was shining silver light upon the forest and thousands of little, but bright stars were twinkling in the ebon sky. Angus enjoyed the eternal night that reigned in Moonglade.

The Kal'dorei let out a deep sigh again and slowly crawled out of his crappy bed. He looked around the moonlit room in silence. The few wrinkles on his forehead became deeper. He was thinking. Angus couldn't remember the last time he saw the headquarters empty. It was always someone – either Yverian, or Ileinu, or Saebelorn... Or any member of the union. Always someone... Something... And now they were away. He was alone. And on the day when...

Angus missed solitude.

The Druid blinked at his usual feather robe hanging at the wardrobe.

"What...?"

He looked down to see what he was wearing. An old, dusty and leafy robe with some magenta-coloured cloth sewed into it to hold the thing together. Now it all came back to him. Yesterday he was planning to leave... for quite some time. Funny how sleep... and dreams mess around with the mind and memory.

Angus wiped the last bits of sleep from his softly-glowing amber eyes and walked over to a small wooden cabinet, probably made of oak. He pulled out a drawer and grabbed the only things that were put in there – two small pieces of parchment, a bottle of ink and a quill. Leaving the drawer open, he sat down on one of the two benches and put the junk in his hands down on the flat top of the railing. He sat still for a few minutes, watching the blue fogs down in Nighthaven, blinking occasionally.

"Yes..." he whispered quietly.

Angus grabbed the quill, dipped it in the ink and scribbled something on one of the pieces of paper hastily – then on another. The first letter seemed a bit lengthier. The Kal'dorei jumped up from the bench and leaned over the railing dangerously. He let out a strange sound – it sounded like some old Darnassian word, but you can never be sure. Then there was a loud, unpleasant bird-like screech. Angus wasn't responsible for this one though. A large black raven flew into the balcony hastily and landed on Angus' left shoulder, gently scratching it with its talons. The Druid smiled at the bird, wrapping the first letter up. He pushed it into the raven's grasp.

"Please take this to Saebelorn. You know where." The Kal'dorei spoke to the bird again.

The raven croaked one more time before flying off. Angus nodded silently, grabbed the second note and walked over to the wall. He pressed the parchment to the wood and closed his eyes. In a few seconds a dim light appeared on his palm. Two small wooden branches came out of the wall and pierced the paper, attaching the note to the wall. Angus opened his eyes, took a few steps back and read through the note's contents one last time.

My loyal Druids and Soldiers,

The threats are greater than before. And now it is my duty to prepare myself so I could prepare you for facing them. I do not even hope my absence to go unnoticed by those who go against us, but there is not a need to worry. Everything is fixed. Another "substitute" leader will be with you soon enough to help the Dream's Eye watch over our union while I am gone. All I can do is ask you to obey their commands as you would obey those of mine.

Let the moon shine upon you, my brave warriors.

-Dream's Hand

Angus wiped the few dips of sweat from his forehead and frowned. Such a simple example of Druidic magic? That hard? That difficult?

"So quickly..." he muttered.

Angus shook his head and nodded again, happy with what he had written. He pulled a warm feather coat out of the wardrobe and put it on. The Druid quickly scanned over the room one last time before running downstairs hastily. He didn't have to hurry, but somewhy he wanted to. That odd and unexplainable want everyone gets from time to time. Or perhaps it was because of his nervousness.

He was outside in no time. The fog covering Nighthaven was working fast – his robe got soaked in a matter of seconds. Tiny drops of water started appearing in his hair. But Angus didn't mind. The Kal'dorei pulled his hood up and set off, keeping a steady, but a fast pace. He just ran, strictly keeping to the narrow path, pretty much ignoring everything around him. His head was down and the eyes hidden in the shadow of the hood were staring at the ground stubbornly. The Druid's grip on the wooden staff in his hand got tighter.

Not many minutes passed 'till Angus reached the woods. The dark contours of the foggy town were fading away in darkness, way behind him. The Kal'dorei sat down by a tall tree, breathing heavily. That simple spell he did back in the headquarters drained too much of his energy. Too much for a simple spell. Angus knew why too. He hadn't visited The Dream for quite some time. And like any Druid's, who would neglect his duty, his powers were slowly fading. He couldn't take The Emerald Hand to Ysera's realm like this. He couldn't lead them to the front; he couldn't battle The Nightmare if he was weak.

Angus gazed at the night sky, thinking... Thinking...

He didn't know what to do. He only knew that he couldn't lead The Hand like this anymore. For the first time, he felt old. Old and tired, powerless against the flow of events, the Druid felt like a little passive being whose destiny was to watch things happen… without trying to change anything. And of all the things, he never was passive. He despised being passive. Angus always was one of the people who wanted to do, change things. And now it seemed like he couldn't do it anymore.

"I cannot let myself fall into this… this… this nonsense. I need to… get such thoughts out of my head. No… I have to do something, and fast. I really –do- have to leave."

Angus' body started to change. His eyes, his face... A large hunch grew on his back. Feather covered him whole, even the robes. Large talons broke out of his shoes. With a green flash the transformation was finished.

The crow screeched and jumped up to the sky, flying around in a circle. It felt natural.

Natural. A wonderful feeling. Angus felt good to be back in the sky.


	21. The Beastmaster 21

he light, grey clouds were moving slowly, devouring the moon in no hurry. It looked like it took ages for them to move even the slightest bit. They were so stagnant, those wardens of the sky. Almost as stagnant as the silent Kal'dorei, standing atop a high mountain, dangerously close to the cliff. He was standing completely still, gazing down. The winds were blowing hard, ruffling the Druid's hair. He looked like he was cold, his arms pressed to his sides tightly. The Kal'dorei was slightly hunched.

Angus' heart felt empty but his mind was full of thoughts. He was thinking over lots of things as his gaze was wandering around Moonglade below, sometimes stopping at the messy pile of wooden roofs around the place where Nighthaven should be. Angus didn't know if he made the right choice, leaving everyone behind just to go on a… adventure. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't know what he was going to do there either. It wasn't a journey… A journey –always- has a blunt purpose. This "trip" had no such thing. So Angus simply called it adventure. The Night Elf had many of those when he was younger… probably around the age of four thousand, he couldn't remember the exact number. He used to go on such trips once in a while, just to see what Elune would push him into. Everything was already planned by Elune… Wherever he went, whatever he did, he always kept true to his belief. If he wouldn't make it, he wouldn't make it – then that was his destiny. With these thoughts in his mind, he used to wander out quite often. He would just walk out and find himself in different places every time he did so – places ranging from an area of Ashenvale he had never seen to the middle of to-be Felwood. Every time it was something new, every time he would gain something from the trip. Angus wanted to think that that would happen this time too, but he wasn't sure. What if this time, he would fail? He would leave the people he cared about and loved for nothing. He really was the "bond-y" kind of a person.

Angus shook his head, trying to chase the doubts away. They took a few steps back, but didn't leave completely. And that worried him. He couldn't do anything if he wasn't determined, doubts would only bring great failure to him. The Kal'dorei stood like that for another hour, almost freezing into a large block of ice. He was shivering. The fur cloak lay at his feet, completely forgotten by its owner. And it was no surprise - with all the thoughts tormenting him it was quite logical for him to be absent.

The Druid winced again, with no obvious reason. He blinked a few times, his eyes having had turned quite dry from all that wind. Angus frowned as he leaned down to pick up the cloak, the wrinkles on his face becoming slightly deeper. He threw the fur over his shoulder and fastened his loose belt a little. Angus fell to his knees and closed his eyes, the amber glow which was illuminating his face all the time before, now disappearing. He put his hands on the cold and wet rock – it was raining. Rain was a rare event in Moonglade. Angus groaned – the transformations were getting more painful every time, serving as a harsh reminder of his "inability". The Druid had a good guess as to where was this weakness coming from, but he didn't want to admit it. Admitting that the reason was actually the one he was thinking about would mean admitting to be a coward. A traitor, a coward, a Druid shunning his heritage – very much like the ones over in the east, the ones Angus disliked quite a lot.

The storm crow was in the sky in a few minutes. After finishing a few circles in the air and pulling off a pretty, yet quite unneeded stunt the bird let out a long, sad and loud croak. He watched everything below as he flew. The sharp eyes of the bird were set on the passing trees, clearings and hills. The trees were truly huge. No matter how high would the crow fly, the ancient citizens of the woods would still tower above him, basking in the rays of cold, white moonlight, fighting for a better spot with each other. Thick coating of lichen covered the old trees. Moonglade may look like an endless, empty forest, but it isn't that. The bird's eyes really were quite good. They noticed every living being crawling around the woods, even the tinniest critter. Or at least the Druid thought they did. Yes, the forest was full of life. Thousands of little squirrels hopping around on the amazingly strong branches of the mighty trees, hundreds of deers roaming around the quiet woods. There were more interesting creatures too. Angus watched the occasional Treant literally walk out of the trees' roots or simply stand stagnant in the middle of a clearing. If there were Ancients around, they were quiet that day – just like they usually are, probably intertwined with the rest of the forest, watching everything from the shadows of the grove.

Suddenly, a whole group of wooden roofs popped out of the depth of the forest. The crow croaked again, his eyes looking sad and tired. The Druid flew over to the Dens and landed o the edge of one of the roofs. He stood there for a few minutes before leaping off of the building. A flash, a noise, another croak. The Druid straightened up and looked around, a light frown on his face. Quite some time has passed since the last time he visited the Barrow Dens – not necessarily Stormrage ones, any Barrow Dens. Quite some time has passed since the last time he went into The Dream. And that was obviously taking its toll on the Night Elf. Shlush, shlush – that was the sound the Kal'dorei's bare feet made as he walked on the wet leaves. They served as a perfect coating for the woods' natural carpet. Angus walked over to one of the trees and ran his fingers over its bark before pressing his full hand at the wood. He closed his eyes as a dim green light started shining out of his tree-touching hand. The glow kept growing bigger and bigger, eventually forming a huge, thick ring and curling around the tree. Angus stood like that for half an hour straight. Elune knows what he was doing, but it indeed looked interesting.

And then there was a noise. Angus winced, the light disappear much more quickly than it appeared. The Druid sighed, having lost contact with… whatever he had contact with and turned around, gazing at the direction of the footstep-like sound. Large bushes, nothing more. But then there was another noise. Cracking. Cracking wood. Angus narrowed his eyes as an Elf-like figure walked out of the bush, its hand in front of its face, probably protecting the eyes from the sharp ends of the miniature branches. It indeed was an Elf, a Night Elf. Angus' eyes ran over the uniform the other Kal'dorei was wearing. He smiled. It was a Dreamwarden, just the right kind of Elf he needed at the moment.

"Ishnu'alah, brother warden." Angus spoke quietly, his eyes set on the Kal'dorei in front of him and a respectful smile playing around on his face.

"Ishnu'dal'dieb…" The answer came out of the Dreamwarden's mouth. He turned his head to the other Night Elf and gazed at him for a few minutes, a confusedly blank look on his face. And then he spoke again. "Oh, Silentwing…" The Kal'dorei's eyes flashed with recognizing.

Angus blinked at the Night Elf. He looked familiar, but…

"I remember him." A quick thought flashed in Angus' head.

The Dreamwarden's name was Sinalios Duskroot. He used to live near Astranaar when he was a child, just like Angus. They had their moments, just like all the Kal'dorei children who lived near each other – a child's birth wasn't something that happened often in the Night Elven society. They never really got to become something even close to friends, seeing as they parted ways quickly – Angus was born with eyes of amber colour, the Druidic gift, while Sinalios had zero potential in the art of nature. Angus had some contact with this particular Kal'dorei in his later years. He found out that Sinalios took up the mantle of a Dreamwarden. It fit him well – the Night Elf had a strong sense of duty, not the kind of person who would make exceptions to his friends or acquaintances.

"Warden Duskroot." Angus nodded.

"What –are- you doing here, if I may ask, brother? I haven't seen you around the Dens for Elune knows how many years." The Dreamwarden tilted his head, tightening his grip on the ridiculously large, silvery weapon.

Angus stared at him bluntly for a minute or so before responding slowly. "I… have been thinking. About duties and heritage. About gifts and ungratefulness."

"Are you returning to The Dreaming, brother Silentwing?"

Angus nodded again. "Yes, I am. Too long I have been denying –my- duties."

Duskroot untied the small knot binding a small pouch to his belt and grabbed the said mini-bag, preventing it from falling and starting to play around with it. "The Dream is dangerous, and you know that, Silentwing. The Druids speak of a slumbering nightmare, alive since ages forgotten, getting stronger… and waking up. Warning you sleeping ones our duty it is, Kal'dorei."

"And stronger it grows, even as we speak. One of the main reasons I am going back it is, too."

"We sealed the… fallen wing, but there is nothing telling us that the same won't happen to another. Yet… My duty is to let you in and ensure your safety. You will need these." Sinalios threw the pouch and watched it land in the other Night Elf's palm. Angus was about to give his thanks when the Dreamwarden spoke again. "Follow me if you must, Druid."

And follow him Angus did. The two walked through one of the archways leading into the Dens in no time. Angus looked up at the ceiling as they walked through the extremely narrow corridor. There were only a few wooden logs to prevent the rock from falling down on the sleeping Druids' heads. Other than that, there were no real walls or ceiling. Just wet earth, sand and stone. Angus listened to the echo of the Dreamwarden's footsteps and thought about how much time has passed since the last time he set foot in these corridors as they went down the stairs of stone. The Dens were really quite – there were only the sounds of the occasional torch's flame withering, water dripping and… wood cracking. Angus had no idea as to where that one came from before he saw it with his own eyes – the small roots that were in the walls were moving. Moving by themselves. Either things really –have- changed since the last time Angus has been here or he forgot what it was like in the Barrow Dens. A great shame for a Druid like him indeed.

"We are here, Silentwing." Sinalios' voice broke the silence. The Warden was standing in front of and pointing at a small… room, I guess one could call the place a room. There wasn't much in it, really. Just two torch holders, a fire pit, a long platform made of stone and a tiny well with blueish water. It looked just like any other "bedroom".

Sinalios grabbed three torches from the wall and handed them to the other Kal'dorei, his face all stone-like and void of emotion. "I suppose you remember the ritual. Best of luck to you, Druid."

Angus took the torches and nodded at the man. "Thank you, Dreamwarden."

The Dreamwarden walked out of the room and brushed the back of his hand at the wet wall. A huge stone came rumbling down at the archway, shutting the bedroom off from the rest of the Dens. Angus stared at the carving on the stone door for a minute. It was a large, crescent-shaped moon, a snake curled around it and a huge head of a dragon behind all those things. The Druid sighed and walked over to the platform. He put two of the torches into the holders and threw the other one into the fire pit. The strange emerald green substance and white powder inside caught on fire immediately. And so, with a green flash the fire pit was lit. Angus walked over to the well. Its above-ground part was shaped into the form of a dusty bowl with more odd carvings. He dipped his hands into the light blue water and spilled some of it on his face, taking around ten sips of it shortly afterwards. He sighed as he felt the ice cold liquid go down his throat, giving him an unnaturally warm feeling. Angus rose from his knees and seated himself again, after taking a few steps to the side to reach the platform. He crawled around for a few minutes 'till he found a relatively comfortable pose. He pulled the tiny bit of brownish rope out his hair, removing the top-knot. The Night Elf grabbed the pouch he got from the Dreamwarden, opened it and threw the weeds it contained into the fire. They turned into ashes in a matter of minutes, spreading a strange aroma. He watched the reddish flames for a while, breathing in and out deeply. Shades of black and orange played on his blueish face in a funny way, forming an interesting combination of colours. Angus waited and waited… He waited for hours. There was nothing he could do speed up the process. But it happened.

Angus felt like the flow of time around him stopped. The flame stopped moving, the noises were no more. He thought he saw the eyes of the snake and the dragon shine with emerald green light. His own eyes slowly closed, he felt like he was falling… but he didn't hit anything. Various images started flashing in his eyes. The old Astranaar… he heard children laughing. He thought he heard his own voice laughing with the others as well. He saw people… He saw faces. He saw his father talking to him in the middle of the woods, pointing at the birds above in the sky. His words were unheard, already fallen into the pit of nothingness, forgotten by everyone. The Night Elf saw his mother. She was smiling. He saw an old man dressed in heavy furs, large antlers protruding from his forehead. He saw a battle. He saw the Scourge. He saw dead people… people he knew. Then other people came. His apprentices, his friends, people from the union he had established… They all faded into the black and empty nothing. Dark, quiet… And then, the sound of birds singing. A bright light…


	22. The Beastmaster 22

Eleven days later, in the Dream.

Two figures were sitting cross-legged in the Emerald Dream. If they stood, and you saw the flattened grass, you could tell they had been there for a long time. Possibly hours. And they had been. Looking closer, you could see Maulbane's eyes, which were plagued by doubt. Of himself, mostly. He was repeating the same motion over and over again, and his arm was hurting form it, an acute pain he had to fight to ignore. He was holding his arm in front of him, and every so often he would clench it, so that the tendons in his arms would be visible. After a few seconds of staring at his arm he would sigh and relax his arm. He would keep doing this, over and over, as Skoram Firebloom watched over the repeated action. Assessing.

"No, no, no. Less physical, more mental. Concentration."

"I -am- con-..." he paused as he groaned. It was starting to hurt more. "Concentrating, Skoram."

"No, you keep looking away. Ignore the pain. You've done it before."

"This pain is different." Skoram smirked slightly.

"Not as different as you would think. Now, continue."

And if you looked closer, you could see what was going on. When the muscles in his arm tightened and his eyes came to gain an intent stare, aimed right at the center of his hand. Move in even closer, and you could see what he was concentrating on. For a fleeting moment, a ball of green smaller than a centimeter in length and depth formed in his hand every time. Within seconds, it dispersed. Against his will. He put his arm down, sighing.

"Giving up so soon?"

"I... It's not happening. Not working." Skoram sighed as he looked up at him.

"You're not a Druid. You're trying too hard to channel the energy of the whole Dream." Maulbane was confused.

"What do you mean by that, master?"

"Only the spirits inside are your concern. You're trying to do too much. Concentrate on the animal spirits alone."

"I'll... I'll try."

Their heads went back down to his arm as it continued to repeat the same action and thinking again and again, ad nauseum. Only Skoram was slightly interested in their surroundings, and only enough to keep safe. They were sitting in a tiny clearing, about three square meters large. Where the little resting area ended the trees continued on again, and they were impressive examples of trees. Untouched for, quite literally, millennium, they touched the skyline at some parts. An Orc, regardless of how determined, would not be able to cut down one of the impressive trees of The Dream. If he could even enter in the first place.

"No, no, no, no. Did you hear me? Less physical. Your arm is working too hard where your mind should be working harder. I know you're used to physical strength, Maulbane, but don't forsake mental power here. It is much more important."

"I... Know. It's hard." Skoram sighed.

"Of course it is. Don't be foolish."

"Right. Sorry." Skoram sighed. Again.

"And don't say sorry."

Of course, the term "Physical" was only to help Maulbane cope with the land. Technically everything was mental and spiritual in the Dream, but the term was used to help lighten the load on his already burdened mind.

Nearby, a Wolf padded through the trees, completely happily. It was very young judging by the size and color of the fur, probably sleeping with its mother somewhere peaceful. It stopped to sniff at a tree trunk for a moment and quickly continued on. It didn't have a clue where it was, but it didn't care, it was a soothing and calming place that he didn't want to leave. So he moved one foot after the other, not caring what direction he took his fluffy self in, going along for the ride that was proving exhilarating. At least for now. It passed Skoram Firebloom, only meters away, and only when it was past him did the Spiritwalker hear it step on a dry leaf. The Elder turned and eyed the Wolf slowly, and began to smile at the sight. Maulbane heard his master rise and did so as well, crushing the ball of ... As far as he knew, spiritual energy, in his fist as he was instructed to do.

"What's wrong?" He leaned past Skoram to see the small Wolf and smiled, mirroring his tutor.

"Nothing. It's just a Wolf." But despite it being just a Wolf, Skoram couldn't help but smile as it exited their field of view.

"I see. Why wasn't it startled by us?" Skoram sighed, brought back to the tiring world of teaching.

"I've told you before. There's nothing to harm a creature in The Dream, except malign humanoids and..." He stopped there. Maulbane was suspicious.

"And what...?" He tilted his head, trying to gauge his master's expression. As per most of the time, it proved impossible.

"Remember the first day I brought you here?" Maulbane nodded eagerly.

"Nothing is perfect. Remember that." Maulbane sighed. "Now, sit down. We continue."

And meanwhile, another creature stirred, having just begun dreaming as the Wolf did. It rose and began exploring keenly, padding through the forest with stealth equal to an assassin. Through a grove of trees it stepped, careful not to disrupt anything, and without the happy gait of most dreaming creatures. It was far too suspicious of its surroundings, but it wasn't evil. Being evil was the job of the Nightmare, not it. And so the creature continued through the semi-woodland, and after a quarter of an hour it walked right into a Wolf cub. The cub scattered, seeing the huge creature looming over it, eyes glowing with unknown intent and fangs bared ever-so-slightly. But it continued on, and soon it saw a clearing no more than three square meters large, which it approached.

Maulbane was trying as hard as ever to conjure up energy when he heard a crack behind him. Skoram rose first, and looked over Maulbane to see what it was. Then Maulbane rose, and clumsily turned around, preparing to fight even in the Emerald Dream. They didn't have to though.

In front of them, eyes glowing and fangs slightly showing, was a Night Elf Druid.


End file.
